


Episode V - l'Empire Contre-Attaque

by kjack89



Series: L’Insurrection Républicaine des Étoiles (Star Wars AU) [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Space Opera
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-09-30
Packaged: 2018-04-19 14:31:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 31,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4749878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><strong>Star Wars AU</strong>. As Cosette follows mysterious instructions from Valjean to continue her Jedi training, Enjolras and Grantaire try to escape from the Galactic Guard. But when Enjolras and Grantaire run into trouble, Cosette must come to their aid and learn a terrible truth in the process.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Episode V is here! We'll be hitting the prequels after this one is done before coming back for Episode VI.
> 
> Usual disclaimer - I own neither Les Misérables nor Star Wars. All mistakes and typos are my own.
> 
> Please be kind and tip your fanfic writers in the form of comments and/or kudos!

_A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away…_

 

L’INSURRECTION RÉPUBLICAINE DES ÉTOILES

EPISODE V

L'EMPIRE CONTRE-ATTAQUE

 

_It is a dark time for the Revolution. Although L’ÉTOILE DE LA MORT has been destroyed, the Galactic Guard has driven the Revolution forces from their hidden base and pursued them across the galaxy._

_Evading the dreaded Imperial Artillery, Les Amis de l’ABC, led by Prince Enjolras and Cosette Fauchelevent, has established a new secret base on the remote ice world of_ _Gorbeau Tènement._

_The evil lady Darth Moeder, obsessed with finding young Fauchelevent, has dispatched thousands of remote probes into the far reaches of space..._

  
  


A metal sphere ejected from the underside of a Galactic Guard ship, hurtling through space and heading toward the icy expanse of the planet below it. It sped through the atmosphere and landed on an ice-covered hillside with an explosion, a crater forming from impact.

After a brief moment, a mechanical sound, completely out of place among the stillness, echoed across the snowy plains, and from the crater, a probe droid emerged, its sensors extended as it searched for any sign of life.

On a slope not too far away, Cosette sat on the back of her SpahisSpahis, a large, gray creature native to the planet -- one of the only creatures native to the planet, its thick fur protecting it from the elements. She scanned the horizon with her binoculars, and paused when she saw smoke rising from a hill in the distance.

She reached up to activate her comlink. “Barricade Three to Barricade Seven. Grantaire, do you read me?”  
  
After a long moment, Grantaire’s voice crackled over the comlink. “Loud and clear — what’s up?” 

“I finished my circle,” Cosette reported. “I didn’t pick up any life readings.”

Grantaire snorted. “I’m just _shocked_ by that,” he said sarcastically, and Cosette rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t help but smile slightly in agreement. “There isn’t enough life on this ice cube to fill the Musain. I’ve placed the sensors, so I’m heading back.”

“I’ll see you shortly,” Cosette told him, pulling on the reins of her SpahisSpahis, turning it towards the smoke she could still see curling through the frigid air. “There’s a meteorite that hit the ground near here and I want to check it out. It won’t take long.”

She kneed her SpahisSpahis forward, surprised when the normally docile animal balked. She leaned down to rub its neck. “Hey, steady there,” she said soothingly as the SpahisSpahis nervously side-stepped, uttering a low warble. “What’s the matter? Do you smell something?”

Without warning, the SpahisSpahis took off, galloping across the tundra, Cosette barely clinging on for dear life. “Calm down!” she shouted, but the wind carried her voice away, not that it would have made much of a difference.

Though she had been working on her Force persuasion skills when she had a few spare moments, she doubted she had the capacity to calm the animal even in a far less dire situation, let alone now, but still, she closed her eyes and reached out with her mind, trying to soothe the animal’s racing thoughts.

Instead, the SpahisSpahis stumbled over a rock and bucked Cosette off its back.

Cosette slumped over in the snow, instantly unconscious from the force of the impact, the wind whipping over her prone body and the snow beginning to pile on top of her.

* * *

 

Grantaire slid off the back of his SpahisSpahis, pulling off his helmet and shaking out his dark curls, ruffling them with one hand in hopes that he didn’t have too bad of helmet hair. Not that he was planning on seeing anyone who would notice or care, but...well, stranger things had happened. 

He handed the helmet off to one of the groundstroops and snagged a bottle of the ice wine some of the technicians had made — it tasted questionable but got the job done, and with what he was about to do, he needed that — before weaving through the hangar to where Joly and Bossuet were at work prepping the Musain. “Joly!” Grantaire called, and the wookiee growled irritatedly in response. “Alright, alright, don’t lose your hair over it — you wouldn’t want to look like Bossuet.” That incited an even louder response from both wookiees and Grantaire laughed and gave them a mock salute. “I’ll be back to help you in a minute.”  
  
Taking a hefty swig from the bottle to steel his nerves, Grantaire headed toward the command center of the base. Immediately his eyes were drawn to Enjolras, who somehow managed to look sexy even wrapped in about fourteen layers, but he managed to tear his eyes away after only the briefest of moments, instead heading to where Combeferre was bent over a console, conferring in low tones with a signal engineer.

Combeferre straightened when he saw Grantaire approach. “Anything to report?” he asked.

Grantaire shook his head. “There are no signs of life out there, but the sensors are in place just in case. That way you will know if anything comes around.”

At Grantaire’s rather conspicuous use of ‘you’ instead of ‘we’, Enjolras straightened, turning to frown at Grantaire, who did his best to ignore him. “Has Commander Fauchelevent reported in yet?” Combeferre asked.

“No, she’s checking on a meteorite that hit near her.”

Combeferre sighed and glanced back at the monitor, his brow wrinkled, looking exhausted and about ten years older than his actual age. “With all the meteor activity in this star system, it’s difficult to spot approaching ships.”

Taking a deep breath, Grantaire blurted, before he could completely lose his nerve, “I can’t stay here anymore.”

Enjolras froze, and Combeferre glanced over at him before looking back at Grantaire, his expression unreadable. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, his voice measured.

“It’s just—” Grantaire also glanced at Enjolras, who was doing his best to pretend like he wasn’t listening. “I’ve got a price on my head, and if I don’t pay off Thénardier, I’m a dead man.”

Combeferre nodded slowly. “A death mark’s not an easy thing to live with. Enjolras ought to know -- there’s a price on his head in about a dozen star systems. Wouldn’t you say, Enjolras?” His pathetic attempt to draw Enjolras into the conversation didn’t work, as Enjolras merely glared frostily at him. Clearing his throat, Combeferre turned back to Grantaire. “You’re a good fight, Grantaire, and we’ll miss having your help around here.”

“Thanks,” Grantaire muttered, staring at Enjolras, who had turned back to the screen in front of him, his shoulders tight. “Well,” Grantaire started, and when Enjolras didn’t even bother turning around, Grantaire’s face flushed slightly. “I guess this is it, your Highness.”

Enjolras threw a glare over his shoulder, his eyes narrowed and full of anger. “That’s right,” he snapped, no warmth to his voice. 

Grantaire glared back at him, because who the fuck did he think he was? Grantaire had thought that they had made some progress in their friendship, if you could call it that, working together on the move from Rue de la Chanvrerie to Gorbeau Tènement and while granted there had been nothing more than some long, lingering looks shared between them, he had still thought…

Well, none of that mattered now. “Don’t get all mushy on me,” Grantaire told Enjolras, matching his tone. “So long, Prince.”

He turned on heel and marched away from the command center, and Enjolras stared after him for a moment before following. “Grantaire,” he snapped in his most commanding tone, and Grantaire stopped, turning to face him and arching an eyebrow.

“Yes, your highnessness?”

Enjolras stopped and stared at him, something cloudy in his expression, and his voice sounded a little hurt as he said quietly, “I thought you had decided to stay.” 

Grantaire sighed and ran a hand across his face. “Yeah, well, the more I thought about, the more I realized I was doing more harm than good staying here. Remember the bounty hunter we ran into on that scout mission? What if I had led them to the base?”

Shaking his head, Enjolras said, his voice flinty, “We need you here.”

“We?” Grantaire repeated.

Enjolras met his eyes. “Yes.”

Grantaire laughed briefly, a short, sarcastic chuckle. “Oh, and what about what _you_ need?” he asked.

“ _I_ need?” Enjolras repeated, mystified by the question. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Laughing again, Grantaire shook his head as he turned away, jamming his hands in his pockets as he sighed, “Yeah, you probably don’t.”

Enjolras scowled at his back. “And what precisely am I supposed to know?” he demanded.

For a moment, it looked like Grantaire was about to snap a response, but then his shoulders slumped and he shook his head. “Nothing,” he said. “Absolutely nothing.”

Behind them, Combeferre cleared his throat, looking amused. “I don’t think it’s nothing.”

Both Enjolras and Grantaire glared at him, if for markedly different reasons. “You should stay out of this,” Grantaire warned, and Enjolras glanced back and forth between the two.

“Well if there’s something that Combeferre knows that I don’t, I really think you should tell me,” he snapped at Grantaire, who flushed and looked away.

Cleaning his throat again, Combeferre said calmly, “You want Grantaire to stay because of the way you feel about him.”

Enjolras stared at him blankly. “Yes,” he said, as if it was obvious. “He’s been a great help to us. He’s an excellent fighter—”

Grantaire coughed. “Um, standing right here, guys.”

Combeferre and Enjolras ignored him. “That’s not it,” Combeferre told Enjolras, a hint of impatience in his voice. “Come on, you know what we’re talking about.”

Enjolras’s eyes narrowed, and then he laughed. “You can’t be serious,” he said, looking over at Grantaire, who was staring determinedly at the wall, his face bright red. “Grantaire, tell him, he’s imagining things.”

Grantaire shrugged. “Well, you _are_ the one following me,” he pointed out evenly, managing a small smile as he fluttered his eyelashes at Enjolras. “Are you afraid I’m going to leave without giving you a goodbye kiss?" 

Enjolras’s mouth opened and closed before he spluttered, “I’d just as soon kiss a Wookiee!”

Grantaire leaned in close and winked before telling him, “I can arrange that.” Then he turned to head back to the hangar, but not before calling over his shoulder, “You could use a good kiss!”

Enjolras whirled on Combeferre, furious, and gestured after Grantaire. “Why in the world would you think that I would want any part of that?” he asked.

Combeferre raised an eyebrow at him. “Because you could cut the sexual tension between you two with a lightsaber,” he replied coolly. “Because I know for a fact you’ve never felt that way about anyone, and I figured getting it out in the open before he left would be for the best.” Shrugging, he started to turn away, then stopped. “If you honestly can tell me I was mistaken, I’ll admit that I was wrong. But I don’t think that I am. So whatever you want to say to him, you better say it soon.”

With that said, he headed back into the command center, leaving a very nonplussed Enjolras behind.

* * *

  
  
“Don’t you try to pin this on me,” MAR-E-S warned as it and Q4 made their way into the hangar. “I didn’t ask you to activate the thermal heater. I merely observed that the temperature levels in the prince’s chamber seemed low. How was I supposed to know that it would cause the walls to melt?” Q4 let out a string of protesting whistles. “Oh, switch off.”

They drew to a halt in front of the Musain, where Grantaire was in the middle of arguing with Bossuet. “Why would you take this apart now?” he snapped. “I’m trying to get us out of here and you choose now to do this?” 

As Bossuet growled with irritation, MAR-E-S asked loudly, “Might I have a word with you, sir?”

Grantaire glanced over at it. “What do you want?” he asked, perhaps more rudely than intended.

“It’s Prince Enjolras, sir,” MAR-E-S told him. “He’s been trying to reach you on the communicator.”

Snorting, Grantaire turned back to the ship. “Yeah, well, I turned it off. I didn’t exactly want to talk to him right now.”

MAR-E-S seemed unconcerned by that. “Oh, well, Prince Enjolras was wondering about Master Cosette. She hasn’t come back yet and Enjolras doesn’t know where she is.”

“I don’t know where she is either,” Grantaire told him.

“Nobody knows where she is,” MAR-E-S told him.

That got Grantaire’s attention, and he turned to frown at MAR-E-S. “What do you mean, ‘nobody knows’?” he asked. Without waiting for an answer, he hopped off of the Musain’s wing, headed directly for a control officer. “Deck officer!” he called. “Do you know where Commander Fauchelevent is?”

The officer shook his head. “I haven’t seen her,” he reported. “It’s possible she came in through the south entrance.”

“It’s possible?” Grantaire repeated. “Why don’t you go find out? It’s getting dark out there.”  
  
He didn’t wait for a reply, instead heading towards the hangar doors. MAR-E-S trailed after him. “Excuse me, sir, but might I inquire what’s going on?” Grantaire ignored him, picking up his pace into more of a jog, and MAR-E-S shook its head before telling Q4, “Come along — we best find Prince Enjolras. Between us, I think Master Cosette is in considerable danger.”

* * *

 

Grantaire was conferring in a low tone with a technician, and the deck officer hurried up to him. “Sir, Commander Fauchelevent hasn’t come in through the south entrance, though she might just have forgotten to check in.”

“Not likely,” Grantaire said grimly, glancing over at the technician. “Are the speeders ready?”

The technician shook her head. “Not yet. We’re having some difficulty adapting them to the cold.”

Grantaire glanced out the door, then shrugged determinedly, grabbing a helmet and jamming it over his curls. “Then we’ll have to go out on SpahisSpahis.”

The deck officer stared at him as he started to mount the SpahisSpahis. “But sir, the temperature’s dropping too rapidly!”

“That’s right, and my friend’s out in it,” Grantaire told him.

“But your SpahisSpahis will freeze before you even reach the first marker!” the deck officer protested.

Grantaire wheeled his SpahisSpahis around and gave both the deck officer and technician a grim smile. “Then I’ll see you in hell!” With that, he kneed the animal forward, racing out into the bitterly cold night, hoping that he found Cosette before the cold got to her — or to him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grantaire finds Cosette, Jehan finds them both, and it appears the Empire may have found them all.

Q4 let out a whistle that sounded closer to a whimper, its sensor circling slowly above its domed head as it stood as far out into the snow as it could manage. “You must come along now, Q4,” MAR-E-S said in a worried tone from its position just inside the hangar doors. “There is really nothing more we can do.” Q4 beeped, long and low, and MAR-E-S shook its head. “Don’t say things like that! Of course we’ll see Master Cosette again. She’ll be alright, you’ll see.”

Next to MAR-E-S, Enjolras stood shivering slightly from the wind whipping through the door, his face drawn and pale as he rubbed his arms to keep warm, and Joly and Bossuet had taken up watch on the other side of the wide doorway. The deck officer cleared his throat from behind him. “Sir, all of the patrols are in. There’s still been no contact from Grantaire or Fauchelevent.”

Enjolras acted as if he hadn’t heard him, staring out the door with narrowed, attentive eyes. MAR-E-S glanced over at him. “Master Enjolras, Q4 says he’s been quite unable to pick up any signals or signs of life, although it admits that its own range is far too weak to abandon all hope.”

Though Enjolras nodded slowly at that, he did not turn away from the door, though he couldn’t see more than a few feet from the door due to the swirling snow and dark. The deck officer tried again. “Your Highness, there’s nothing more than can be done tonight. The shield doors must be closed.”

Again, Enjolras gave no sign of having heard, and the deck officer looked at him closely before shaking his head and turning back to order, “Close the doors.”

Joly and Bossuet howled mournfully, a fitting soundtrack to the huge metal doors beginning to slide closed across the doorway. Q4 scooted back inside, also beeping a bit sadly, and MAR-E-S inclined its head slightly. “Q4 says the chances of survival are 775...to one.”

Enjolras closed his eyes, his expression pained, and MAR-E-S added, “Actually, Q4 has been known to make mistakes...from time to time. Don’t worry about Master Cosette or Captain Grantaire. I’m sure they’ll be alright. They’re both quite clever...for human beings.”

The metal doors slammed shut, echoing through the hangar with a boom that seemed to seal the fate of their two comrades still outside in the cold.

* * *

 

Cosette was roused by the cold, or rather, by the chill set so far into her bones that she could no longer feel the cold -- or, really, much of anything at all. She shook, and tried to get to her feet, but she couldn’t seem to make her extremities move.

She tried and failed to at least roll onto her back, but gave up, slumping back into the snow. She looked up once more, and was shocked to see a faint apparition that looked just like-- “Valjean?” she managed.

“Cosette,” Valjean said, his voice clear in Cosette’s ear despite the bitter wind. “You must go to the Digne-les-Bains system. There you will learn from Myriel, the Jedi Master who instructed me.”

As quickly as it had appeared, the image of Valjean faded, but not before Cosette summoned the last of her strength to reach toward the fading apparition, murmuring, “Val...jean…”  
  
Suddenly, a real image appeared from the horizon -- Grantaire on his SpahisSpahis, bent low against the wind. Cosette watched him approach with unfocused eyes before falling unconscious again.

Grantaire leapt off his mount as soon as he could, running to where Cosette lay. “Cosette!” he said, shaking her shoulder urgently. “Don’t do this, Cosette. Come on, give me a sign here.”

He rubbed Cosette’s arms vigorously, trying to restore some circulation in the frozen appendages, and bent to try to lift Cosette up into his arms. Just as he had lifted Cosette off the ground, his SpahisSpahis let out a low, guttural noise and fell over into the snow, dead just as the deck officer had predicted. Grantaire glanced from the dead beast to Cosette lying still and white in his arms and took a deep, steadying breath. “Well, we don’t have much time,” he said, more to himself than anything.

Carefully, he laid Cosette against the dead creature and grabbed Cosette’s lightsaber off of her belt, taking a shuddering breath before igniting the blade and slitting the SpahisSaphis’ belly, trying not to gag at the stench. “And I thought they smelled bad on the outside,” he managed, glancing down at Cosette and telling her, “I’m sorry to have to do this, kid, but it’ll keep you warm until I get the shelter built.”

He carefully slid Cosette’s prone form into the body cavity, knowing that the residual body heat would do more than he possibly could, never mind the smell and the unfortunate state of Cosette’s clothes after this. Then, heaving a sigh, Grantaire pulled the pack off of the SpahisSpahis’ back and started to set up the shelter that would serve as his only protection against a bitter night.

* * *

  
  
Four armored snowspeeders raced across the icy plains, glittering in the early morning sun, a high contrast to the dark night. Jehan adjusted the scope in his cockpit, peering out at the snow for any sign of movement, perking up when one of his monitors beeped. “Barricade Base, this is Barricade Two. I’ve got something! Not much, but it could be a life form!”

He steered his ship in the direction his monitor indicated, squinting at the bright white while broadcasting to any open channels, “This is Barricade Two. This is Barricade Two. Captain Grantaire, do you copy? Commander Fauchelevent, do you copy? This is Barricade Two.”

After a brief moment of silence, the transmitter crackled to life as Grantaire said wryly, “Morning, Prouvaire. Nice of you to join us!”

Jehan rolled his eyes and laughed before reporting to base, “Barricade Base, this is Barricade Two. I found them. Repeat, I have found them.”

He slowed his craft down, aiming for the hill that he could just see in the distance, a tent standing out against the snow on the windward side. He could just see Grantaire outside of the shelter, waving at him, and set his direction for landing and rescue.

* * *

  
  
Cosette slowly sat up in the medical bay, weak but in good spirits, waving off the robot surgeon who was tending to him. She seemed little worse for the wear after her experience, though she bore a few scars on her face from frostbite that couldn’t be avoided, even with the droids’ medical experience.

MAR-E-S fussed over her like a nursemaid, tucking a blanket in against her. “Oh, Master Cosette, it is good to see you fully functional again, and Q4 expresses his relief as well.”

Q4 beeped in agreement and Cosette smiled at it. Just then, the door opened, and Grantaire, Joly and Bossuet strolled into the room, the Wookiees growling their greeting. Grantaire smirked at Cosette, but she could see the relief on his face. “How are you feeling?” he asked. “You don’t look so bad to me.”

“Well, the medic droids put me in this warm bath thing that seemed to fix me right up,” Cosette said, giving him a gentle smile as she added “And thanks to you as well.”

Grantaire shrugged and made a dismissive gesture before winking at her. “That’s two you owe me, kid.”

Enjolras joined them next, swooping in to kiss Cosette’s cheek before taking over MAR-E-S’s duties of fussing over her, while Grantaire have him a smile that was more like a grimace. “Well, your Worship, looks like you managed to keep me around for a while longer.”

Sniffing haughtily, Enjolras told him, “I had nothing to do with it. Combeferre thinks it’s dangerous for any ships to leave the system until we’ve activated the energy shield.”

“Oh, well, if Combeferre thinks it, it must be true,” Grantaire said crisply before leaning in and winking. “I just think you can’t bear to let a gorgeous guy like me out of your sight.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow at him before saying coolly, “I don’t know where you get your delusions, laser brain.”

It was hard to say who laughed harder between Joly and Bossuet, though Cosette also had to turn a snigger into a cough. Grantaire, looking, wounded, looked between Joly and Bossuet before telling them, “Laugh it up, fuzz balls. But neither of you saw us alone in the south passage, where he expressed his true feelings for me.” Enjolras looked enraged, and Grantaire added, in an undertone, “Or, well, Combeferre did. For him.”

Drawing himself up, Enjolras spat, “Why, you stuck up, half-witted, scruffy-looking nerf-herder!”

Grantaire looked almost delighted by the insults and he tipped a large wink at Cosette, who hid her laughter with a hand over her mouth. “Who’s scruffy-looking?” he asked, mock-wounded, before telling Cosette, “I must have hit him pretty close to the mark to get him all riled up like that, huh?”

“Well, I guess you don’t know everything about men yet,” Enjolras said, his voice low, and without warning, he stood and strode out, leaving Cosette, Grantaire, Joly and Bossuet staring after him.

For a moment, it looked like Grantaire was about to say something, his cheeks flushed slightly, when suddenly, an alarm echoed throughout the base. “Base personnel, report to command center,” an authoritative voice commanded over the loudspeaker, and Grantaire instantly stood, clapping Cosette on the shoulder as he told her, distractedly, “Take it easy.”

Then he was gone, followed by Joly and Bossuet, as well as the droids, all heading quickly to the command center, almost taking Enjolras over as they went, all trace of their previous humor lost. Combeferre looked up as the group entered, looking straight at Enjolras. “Prince Enjolras, we have a visitor.” He gestured towards a screen as they gathered around him. “We’ve picked up something outside the base in zone twelve, moving east. The scanners say it’s metal.”  
  
“It could be a speeder,” Grantaire suggested. “One of ours.”

Enjolras shook his head. “No, none of our speeders are in the area.” He froze as a faint sound was picked up by the scanners. “Wait -- there’s a weak signal coming through.”

MAR-E-S stepped forward, tilting its head as it listened intently. “Sir, I am fluent in six million forms of communication, and I can tell you that this signal is not used by the Revolution. It could be an Imperial code.”

“It isn’t friendly, whatever it is,” Grantaire said grimly. “Joly, Bossuet, let’s check it out.”

Enjolras shook his head and laid a gentle hand on Grantaire’s arm. “As much as we appreciate your willingness, Jehan and a few others are still out on patrol and will get there sooner.” He nodded at Combeferre. “Send Barricade Two and Eleven to station three-eight.”

After a tense moment, Jehan’s voice came through. “I’ve spotted it. Not sure what it is, but I have it in sight if I have permission to open fire.” 

Without warning, the sound of an explosion echoed over the intercom, and Barricade Eleven reported triumphantly, “It’s a hit!”

Enjolras and Grantaire exchanged glances while Jehan reported, “I’m afraid there’s not much left. It’s a droid of some kind. It wasn’t hit that hard, so it must have had some kind of self-destruct.”  
  
Closing his eyes for a brief moment, Enjolras said heavily, “It’s an Imperial probe droid.”

Grantaire looked at him seriously. “Then it’s a good bet that the Empire knows we’re here.”

Combeferre nodded, his expression grim. “Then we’d better start the evacuation.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so TB-TT doesn't sound nearly as cool as AT-AT when you say it out loud but whatever. Life can't just be about cool-sounding acronyms all the time. Anyway, the Empire begins its ground assault against the Revolution and Enjolras and Grantaire continue their will-they/won't-they routine.

High above the icy planet, a fleet of ships pulled into range, massive troop transports and smaller fighters alike. In the command center of the largest ship in the fleet, Admiral Bugeaud was conferring in quiet tones with General Listolier, when they both froze at the ominous sound of approaching footsteps.

Darth Moeder strode onto the bridge like a wave of darkness, sending a chill down everyone’s spine as she swept towards the Admiral and General. Before she could reach them or state her purpose, a captain rushed up to the two men, saluting and avoiding Darth Moeder’s gaze as she approached. “Admiral Bugeaud,” the captain said, her voice squeaking slightly.

Bugeaud arched an eyebrow at her. “Yes, Captain Dahlia?”

“I think we’ve got something, sir,” Dahlia said, still sounding nervous. “The report is only a fragment from a probe droid in the Gorbeau Tènement system, but it’s the best lead that we’ve had thus far.”

Snorting, Bugeaud shook his head before saying dismissively, “We have thousands of probe droids searching the galaxy. I want proof, not leads!”

Suitably chastised, Dahlia shrugged, looking at the ground. “The visuals indicate life readings, sir, and—”

“It could mean anything,” Bugeaud snapped. “If we followed every lead—”

Contrary to her position, Dahlia interrupted her superior, telling him urgently, “But, sir, the Gorbeau Tènement system is supposed to be devoid of human lifeforms!”

Darth Moeder stepped forward, tilting her head questioning towards the captain. “You believe you have found something?” she asked.

Dahlia swallowed visibly. “Ye-yes, my lady,” she managed, gesturing towards a video screen displaying a grainy image and what may have been Revolution ships heading towards a base of some variety. Moeder tapped the screen with a gloved finger. “This is it,” she said, a note of glee in her heavy voice. “The Revolution base is here.”

Bugeaud cleared his throat before saying in a condescendingly patient voice, “My lord, there are so many uncharted settlements outside the Empire’s purview. It could be smugglers or pirates, or it could be—”

“That is the system,” Darth Moeder said, her tone final. “There may be star systems still outside of the Empire’s grasp, but none outside of the Force. Fauchelevent is with them, I can feel it.” She switched her gaze between Admiral Bugeaud and General Listolier. “Set your course for the Gorbeau Tènement system. General Listolier, prepare your men for a ground assault.”

With that said, she turned on heel and swept away, leaving Admiral Bugeaud staring after her, a murderous look on his face, while General Listolier turned to his own men to begin issuing order and Captain Dahlia slipped away, grateful to have made it through unscathed.

* * *

 

The Revolution base was in absolute chaos, ground forces running hither and fro loading up transports and ensuring star fighters were ready to go, though absolute panic hadn’t yet set in. A captain stood near the Musain, speaking loudly over the din to a group of pilots. “Groups seven and ten will stay behind at the base to launch the counter-assault against the Imperial invasion. The other groups will protect the transports. As soon as each transport is loaded, evacuation control will give clearance for immediate launch. We’ve got to get those transports past the Star Destroyers.”  
  
Alarms sounded, signalling that the Imperial forces were drawing closer. The troops hurried off their snowspeeders and Barricade-class fighters, followed by ground crews and droids.

In the midst of all the action, Grantaire was hard at work on the Musain, frantically attempting to weld back together what Joly had taken apart earlier. Over is complink, he ordered, “Okay, that ought to do it -- try it!” Without warning, the welded bit exploded in Grantaire’s face, and he practically shrieked, “Off, off! Turn it off!”

He bent down to inspect the new damage, his brow furrowed deeply. “That looked like it went well,” a voice called from the deck, and Grantaire glared over the edge of the ship’s top, though his glare softened slightly when he saw who it was.

“Have they finally let you out?” he asked, his tone wry. “And just in time for you to go get yourself blown up by the Empire.”

Cosette rolled her eyes as she adjusted her gauntlets, about to respond when she was cut off by a fussing medical droid, which had followed her from the med bay. “Sir or madam, it will take quite a while to evacuate the ships. You should return to the medical bay until absolutely necessary.”

Laughing, Cosette told it, “When I told you I didn’t care if you called me either sir or madam, I didn’t mean that you had to call me both. And while it may take some time for the transports, there’s still the smaller ships to think of, and that’s where I intend to be.”

The medical droid nodded slowly. “Take care, then, sir or madam.”

Cosette nodded distractedly and headed towards the waiting snowspeeders, waving at Bossuet and Joly, who were tinkering on the underside of the Musain. “Take care of yourselves, you two!” she called, and both growled their goodbye, though Bossuet also darted away from the ship to lift Cosette up in a sudden hug.

“Bossuet, will you check the other end for the—” Grantaire started, hopping off of the Musain, though he stopped when he saw Bossuet and Cosette, his expression softening. “Seriously, kid, are you alright?”

“Fit as a fiddle,” Cosette told him, with a tight smile, as Bossuet gently set her down.

Grantaire examined her closely for a moment and then crossed to her and pulled her into a far less fierce hug than Bossuet, the embrace wishing her all the things he couldn’t bring himself to. “Be careful,” he said, his voice hoarse.

Cosette nodded, and squeezed him in return, telling him, her own voice muffled, “You too.”

Then they broke apart, and Cosette headed toward the snowspeeders as Grantaire watched before shaking his head and returning to the Musain.

Over the loudspeaker in the hangar, a voice announced in measured tones, “Prepare for ground assault.”

* * *

 

Darth Moeder sat stoically on a raised dais, staring out into space, silent and unmoving as she meditated. General Listolier slipped into the room, unwilling or unable to disturb Moeder’s meditation, instead standing quietly at attention until after a long moment, Moeder spoke in her low, gravelly voice. “What is it, General?”  
  
Listolier cleared his throat. “Our scanners have detected an energy field protecting what appears to be a set of naturally-occurring ice caves. The field is strong enough to deflect any bombardment.”

Moeder turned slowly, and her voice was tight and angry as she said, “The Rebels are alerted to our presence. Admiral Bugeaud came out of light-speed too close to the system.”

Swallowing hard, Listolier shrugged helplessly. “I’m sure that the Admiral thought surprise was wisest…”

“He is as clumsy as he is stupid,” Moeder said stiffly. “General, prepare your troops for a surface attack. And send Admiral Bugeaud and Captain Dahlia in to see me.”

Listolier snapped a salute. “Yes, sir!” With that, he turned on heel and hurried away as quickly as he could while still maintaining some semblance of dignity.

Moeder did not turn back to the window, instead staring at the door as if her very glare could burn through the metal door. After a long moment, Admiral Bugeaud hurried in, smoothing the front of his uniform, followed closely by Captain Dahlia, who looked more confused than anything.

“Lady Moeder,” Admiral Bugeaud started loudly, “the fleet is in position, and we’re preparing to—aagh!”

Slowly, Moeder clenched her fist in front of her, the admiral reaching up to scrabble at his throat, which was suddenly constricting as if Moeder’s fist was around it. “You have failed me for the last time, Admiral,” Moeder said, almost conversationally. She turned to Dahlia. “Captain Dahlia.”

Dahlia stepped forward, her eyes wide as she tried to ignore Bugeaud collapsing beside her. “Yes, my lady.”

“Make ready to land our troops beyond the energy field, and spread the fleet so that there are no gaps. No ship must make it out of this system. You are in command now, Admiral Dahlia.”

Rather than looking pleased at the sudden and unexpected promotion, Dahlia instead paled, glancing sideways at Bugeaud, whose face was turning an alarming shade of purple. “Thank you, Lady Moeder,” she said, her voice faint, and she turned to head back to the bridge, leaving Moeder and the lifeless Bugeaud behind.

* * *

 

Enjolras surveyed the assembled pilots in the hangar. “All troop carriers will assemble at the north entrance. The heavy transport ships will leave as soon as they’re loaded. Only two Barricade fighter escorts per ship. The energy shield can only be opened for a short time, so you’ll have to stay very close to your transports.”

One of the fighters shook her head, looking dazed. “Only two fighters against a Star Destroyer?” she protested.

Nodding, Enjolras told them, in a voice that brooked no argument, “The ion cannon will fire several shots to make sure that any enemy ships will be out of your flight path. When you’ve gotten past the energy shield, proceed directly to the rendezvous point. Understood?”

The pilots all nodded, but they all seemed less than enthusiastic, even as they made their way to their ships. Enjolras sighed heavily, and turned to head back to the command center, but not before he caught Grantaire’s curious gaze from the Musain. “And what about you?” Grantaire called, hopping down from the Musain to start towards him.

Enjolras frowned at him. “What do you mean, what about me?” he asked. “My place is here, until everyone else is evacuated. We have to make sure that the power generators are protected. I’ll be on the final transport after they’re all away.” He raised an eyebrow at Grantaire. “What about you?” he asked, a little coolly. “Taking off with the first transport, I assume, eager as you are to get out of here?”

“No, I’m afraid the Musain’s lifter still isn’t fixed,” Grantaire said, though the back of his neck turned red as Joly howled something at him. “In fact, I think it’ll be quite a bit before it’s operational again.”

The last bit was pointed, and aimed more at Joly and Bossuet than Enjolras, and both Wookiees grumbled while Enjolras just looked bemused. “Well, then,” he said, turning away, “I guess we haven’t quite seen the last of each other.”

Grantaire shook his head, watching Enjolras head to the command center. “No, we certainly haven’t,” he murmured.

* * *

 

Cosette climbed into the front seat of her snowspeeder, clapping her co-pilot and gunner Catherine on the shoulder as she did. Just then, an announcement over the loudspeaker broke through the noise of the hangar. “The first transport is away.”

Everyone cheered and Catherine whistled before asking Cosette cheerfully, “Are you feeling alright?”

“Just like new,” Cosette assured her as they settled into the cockpit. She took a second to refamiliarize herself with the speeder’s controls before asking. “How about you?”

Catherine laughed, an open, honest sound that made Cosette smile as well. “Right now, I feel like I could take on the whole Empire myself.”

Though Cosette chuckled, her expression turned more grim as she strapped herself in and pulled her helmet on, staring out into the swirling snow as the doors to the hangar opened. “Yeah,” she muttered, so quiet that Catherine could hardly hear her. “I know exactly what you mean.”

The snowspeeders rose into the air in formation before swooping out of the hangar, heading toward the dark dots they could just see on the horizon. “Barricade group, this is Barricade Base. We’ve spotted Transports Blindé Tout Terrain on the north ridge at point three-eight-eight.”

“Copy, Barricade Base,” Cosette said, adjusting her route slightly. “We’re on our way.”

The fleet of snowspeeders opened throttle, accelerating towards the distant TB-TT walkers, the base shrinking behind them. “All right, Barricade group,  this is Barricade Leader. Keep tight now as we approach,” Cosette ordered.

Jehan’s voice crackled over her comlink, which ordinarily would have made her smile but now just made the corners of her mouth twitch. “Barricade Leader, this is Barricade Two. Glad to see you on this fine, snowy day. Ready to kick some TB-TT ass?”

Snorting, Cosette was about to reply when Catherine said, her voice sounding slightly panicked, “Cosette, I have no approach vector. I’m not set!”

“Steady,” Cosette told her calmly. “Use attack pattern delta.” A moment later, the vector lit up green on her computer, and she managed a small smile as she told Catherine, “Good job.” To the group she reported, “I’m going in!”

Though the TB-TT walkers opened fire on the approaching ships, their cannons were too big to maneuver properly against the smaller ships, and Cosette used this to her advantage, darting in under the cover of the laser fire and flying directly towards the enormous walker’s legs. “Prouvaire, are you still with me?” She called as the ship banked between the walker’s legs.

“Right behind you,” Jehan said, the cheer still evident in his voice, though there was steel and determination behind it, and as one, both ships opened fire on the huge walkers, their blasters hitting the armored sides but dissipating, doing no actual harm to the metal. “That armor’s too strong for blasters!”

Cosette and Jehan sped past the walkers before turning to make another run, and Cosette shook her head, trying to quickly think of a solution before the base was overrun. “Barricade group,” she said into the comlink urgently, “use your harpoons and tow cables. Go for the legs and take ‘em out at the knees. It might be our only chance to stop them.” She glanced over her shoulder at Catherine. “Are you ready for this?”

Catherine, however, was distracted by an alert on her monitor. “Cosette, we’ve got a malfunction in fire control. I’ll have to cut in the auxiliary controls.”

“Just hang on,” Cosette said, gritting her teeth as the ship banked, heading towards an oncoming walker. “Get ready to fire that tow cable!”

As they approached, the walker opened fire, explosions bursting all around Cosette and Jehan as they continued their approach, metal and ice alike flying through the air like deadly shrapnel. “Are you alright?” Cosette called to Catherine, shaken by blasts and the debris that had peppered the ship.

There was no answer.

Cosette twisted around, her eyes going wide as she saw Catherine slumped over her controls, the rear window broken by some piece of debris. “Catherine?” Cosette called, panicked. “Catherine!”  
But it was too late, and Cosette turned back around, shaking as she tried to regain control of the craft. “I’ve lost Catherine,” she reported, her voice breaking slightly. “Barricade Group, stand by.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alas, Gorbeau Tènement, it's like we barely knew you. But still, it's past time we moved the heated sexual tension away from the freezing cold of the ice planet and into the ...freezing cold of outer space. Whelp. There goes that plan.

For a moment, Cosette sat in shock, numbly trying to wrap her mind around the fact that her friend and gunner was dead. Once, she might have pulled away from the battle to gather herself, to suppress the tears of loss she surely felt.

But now, she did none of those things, instead shaking her head slightly, dry-eyed, gripping her controls and swallowing hard before saying calmly into the comlink, “Barricade Two, this is Barricade leader. Jehan, I’ve lost my gunner. You’ll have to make this shot, but I’ll cover you. Set your harpoon and follow me on the next pass.”

“Coming around, Barricade Leader,” Jehan said, no trace of humor in his voice.

Together, they raced through the legs of one of the walkers. At the perfect moment, Jehan ordered, “Activate harpoon!” The harpoon flashed out, speeding towards the front leg of the walker, embedding itself in the metal. “Good shot!” 

Both Jehan and Cosette emerged from beneath the walker to circle around it, the harpoon still connected to Jehan’s speeder by a thin cable. Together, they circled the walker’s legs, winding the cable around it as they did. “One more pass,” Jehan muttered.

“Careful, Barricade Two,” Cosette warned as they went in for their final pass. “Wait for it...wait for it…Alright, cable out — let it go!”

“Cable detached!” Jehan reported, as the cable on the back of the speeder snapped loose and dropped away. As the two speeders zoomed away from the walker, the TB-TT attempted to take another step, but the cable around its legs tightened, making it unable to do so. For a moment, the TB-TT teetered, then toppled to the ground, smashing into the icy surface.

Jehan and Cosette both cheered. “We got him!” Jehan crowed triumphantly, and Cosette laughed. 

“Good job, Prouvaire, but we’ve got a lot more to go before we can start celebrating.” 

Laughing, Jehan started, “Come on, Barricade Leader, don’t be a spoil-sport—” but was cut off abruptly as debris hit his ship, causing the speeder to shudder uncontrollably.

Cosette glanced over, worried. “Barricade Two, are you alright?”

For a long moment, there was nothing but radio silence from Jehan, and Cosette’s hands tightened around the controls of her ship. Then, just as she was tempted to consider Jehan lost, her heart breaking a little at the thought, Jehan’s voice came through her comlink, and Cosette closed her eyes briefly in relief. “I’m still with you, Barricade Leader,” Jehan reported, a little wryly. “They can’t get rid of me that easily.”

“I’d still rather they didn’t get rid of you at all,” Cosette said, relief evident in her voice. “Set your harpoon for the next ship, and I’ll cover you.”

As one, they turned in formation to head towards one of the still-approaching walkers, dodging laser blasts as they did. Though the walkers’ blasters were inaccurate and slow to respond to the faster speeders, the TB-TT’s were compensating by firing across the field instead of directly at the fighters, creating a deadly obstacle course for any snowspeeder to maneuver. “Watch that cross fire, Barricade group,” Cosette warned. “Stay tight and low.”

They headed for the nearest walker, when suddenly, out of nowhere, another speeder, hit by a stray laserbolt, sped directly into their flight path before exploding against the side of the walker. Both Cosette and Jehan were rocked by the blast and peppered with flak from the explosion, but Cosette was worse-off — Catherine’s concern about the faulty fire-system seemed prophetic as thick, black smoke filled her cockpit. “Jehan, I’m hit!” she shouted as her controls seemed to freeze. “I’m hit and I’m going down!"

Sure enough, Cosette’s engine gave out with a loud, whining noise, and she just managed to steer the ship toward a high snowbank, landing with a thump. Thankfully, the landing wasn’t terribly rough, but it knocked the wind out of Cosette just the same. Still, she recovered quickly, scrambling to unbuckle herself and escape from the ship as the fire overtook it.

With a speed gifted partly from pure adrenaline and partly from the Force she could feel moving through her, she made it out of the cockpit and tumbled down the snowbank just in time, as her ship exploded behind her.

* * *

  
  
Enjolras bent over Combeferre’s shoulder, peering at the computer screen. Combeferre frowned and indicated the approaching fleet. “I don’t think we can protect two transports at a time,” Combeferre said, clearly worried.

“It’s risky,” Enjolras admitted, “but we can’t hold out much longer. At this point, we have no choice.” He grabbed the intercom and announced, “Evacuate remaining ground staff.” He glanced over at Combeferre. “You should go as well.”

Combeferre frowned at him. “Are you crazy?” he asked. “I’m not going anywhere until you do.”

Enjolras shook his head. “The Revolution needs you. You have the foresight and planning knowledge that the Revolution will need to keep this going long-term. I always knew that if I was going down, I was going down in a big way.” Combeferre shook his head as well, looking unconvinced, and Enjolras managed a smile as he patted Combeferre on the shoulder. “And besides, I’m not ready to give up just yet.”

Though Combeferre looked as if he was going to argue again, he instead bowed his head and nodded slowly. “Very well,” he said, sounding resigned. “But you better not give up.” He met Enjolras’s eyes. “I expect to see you at the rendezvous point.”

“You as well,” Enjolras said quietly, before pulling Combeferre into a quick hug. Then he turned back to the computer monitor, unwilling to watch as Combeferre left, knowing that no matter what they said, he may never see his best friend again.

An explosion rocked the command center, and Enjolras almost fell, and probably would have, were it not for a sudden pair of strong arms that caught him. “Are you alright?” a concerned voice asked, and Enjolras turned, surprised to see Grantaire standing there.

“Yeah,” he said, then, abruptly aware of how they were standing, took a step back. “Why are you still here?”  
  
His words were harsh, but if they affected Grantaire, he didn’t let it show, concern still evident on his face. “I heard the command center had been hit,” he said, which didn’t answer Enjolras’s question at all.

Enjolras shook his head and turned away. “You got your clearance to leave,” he reminded Grantaire, feeling ruffled, and hating himself a little bit for it.

That did seem to hurt Grantaire, his expression tightening for a moment before it evened out. “Don’t worry, I will leave,” he said darkly. “But not before I get you to your ship.” Enjolras just shook his head again, not looking at Grantaire, and understanding dawned across Grantaire’s face. “You don’t mean to take the last transport.”

“Someone has to make sure that everyone is evacuated,” Enjolras said quietly. “And someone also has to try to delay the Imperial ground troops as long as possibly. As soon as they breach the base, they’ll uncover quickly enough where the transports are headed, and any time that can be bought for them is well-worth it.”

Grantaire just stared at him. “Are you out of your goddamn mind?” he asked. When Enjolras didn’t reply, Grantaire scowled and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Fine. You stay, I stay.”

Enjolras glared at him. “I thought you had to go settle a debt,” he said, a little snottily.

“Yeah, well, if I’m dead, it’s not like Thénardier can come collect,” Grantaire said grimly. For a long moment, they just glared at each other, but Grantaire broke first, shaking his head as his expression softened. “Come on **—**  the Revolution _needs_ you. You inspire people and bring them together to fight. They’re going to need you before the end, and I know that if you’re going down, you’re gonna want to go down big, not stuck here on this godforsaken chunk of ice just to delay some pea-brained stormtrooper who’ll probably take an hour to get his head out of his ass for long enough to figure out anything, let alone the rendezvous point.”  
  
Though Enjolras softened slightly as well, he still seemed unconvinced. “I thought you weren’t in this for the Revolution,” he pointed out evenly.

Grantaire shrugged. “Never said that I was. But I don’t exactly want to die here, as I’m not too fond of the cold, so if we’re going to meet our demise, I’d rather it was somewhere warmer.” Enjolras’s expression soured slightly at the joke, and Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Fine, I’m not in this for the Revolution, and I sure as hell don’t believe in grand acts of self-sacrifice, but Cosette would whoop my ass if I let you stay here and get yourself killed, so can we please just get to the transport and get the hell out of here?”

For one moment, it looked like Enjolras was going to argue more, but then another blast shook the command center, and he nodded, looking tired. “Fine,” he said, which was all Grantaire needed to hear as he grabbed Enjolras’s hand and practically dragged him toward the door.

As soon as they got outside the door, they ran into MAR-E-S. “Oh, hello, sirs,” the droid said. “Did you know that the caverns are slowly collapsing?”

“Well there’s no need to sound so excited about it,” Grantaire grumbled. “Come on!”

They raced down the hall, MAR-E-S lagging behind, as its legs could only move so quickly. Suddenly, an explosion rocked the corridor, and without pausing, Grantaire grabbed Enjolras, pushing him against the wall and shielding him with his body. After the shuddering corridor steadied, they could see that the wall in front of them had collapsed, leaving the corridor impassable.

Without pulling away from Enjolras, Grantaire grabbed his comlink from his pocket and radioed the transport. “Transport, this is Grantaire. You had better take off — we can’t get to you. I’ll get Prince Enjolras out on the Musain.”

Then, as if realizing he was practically on top of Enjolras, Grantaire quickly jumped back, his face flushed. “Um. Right,” he said, succinctly, before telling Enjolras unnecessarily, “We can’t get out that way, so we’ll have to…”

“Right,” Enjolras said, his face also pink, and without saying anything else, they both sped down the corridor in the opposite direction, passing MAR-E-S, who spun precariously before telling them, “Wait for me!”  
  
Though the trek to the Musain was uneventful, all of the walls were now trembling ominously, and they could hear stormtroopers moving through the base down other hallways. Enjolras and Grantaire burst into the hangar at full speed, startling Joly and Bossuet, who were making some last-minute modifications to the Musain. “Get inside!” Grantaire called, then glanced back over his shoulder at MAR-E-S, who was still puttering along. “Hurry up, goldenrod, or you’re going to be a permanent resident!” 

As soon as MAR-E-S’s shiny metal feet touched the ship’s ramp, the ramp closed, sending the droid hurtling forward into the ship. 

In the cockpit, Grantaire was busy flipping switches and getting the ship ready for take off, while Joly seemed concerned by one of the pressure gauges on the dashboard. He howled and pointed at it as Grantaire tried — and failed — to start the Musain’s engine. “Shit,” Grantaire swore.

Enjolras raised an eyebrow and asked coolly, “Would it help if I got out and pushed?”

Grantaire scowled at him. “It might,” he said grimly, flipping some more switches and pressing several buttons.

MAR-E-S, who had finally picked itself off of the floor to make its way to the cockpit, said, “Captain Grantaire, sir, might I suggest—” but Grantaire silenced it with a look that could melt iron. “It can wait,” MAR-E-S muttered.

“This bucket of bolts is never going to get us past that blockade,” Enjolras said as the ship tried to shudder to life but failed at the last second.

Grantaire didn’t even bother giving him a dirty look, merely muttering determinedly, “This baby’s got a few surprises left in her, sweetheart.” Just then, the telltale sound of blasters burst through the hangar, and Enjolras and Grantaire peered out of the cockpit window at the stormtroopers below, and Grantaire whimpered before ducking back down. “Come on baby, we need a surprise.”  
  
Bossuet let out a grunt of agreement and turned around too quickly, losing his balance and falling butt-first onto a panel of controls. Miraculously, his hairy behind seemed to do the trick, the engine firing up smoothly, and Grantaire grinned at Enjolras, who rolled his eyes before telling him dryly, “Someday you’re going to be wrong, and I hope I’m there to see it.”

Grantaire just laughed before nodding at Joly. “Alright, Jolllly, punch it!”

Amidst blaster fire, the Musain took off, roaring out of the hangar.  


* * *

 

Cosette looked up as she heard the tell-tale sound of the Musain taking off, and waved as it passed over her, even though it was too far away to see her. Then she turned back towards the auxiliary hangar, where the snowspeeder pilots had left their Barricade-class ships.

The trudge from the battlefield to the hangar had been a long one, and Cosette was exhausted, her face streaked with black soot, but she managed a tired smile when she heard Q4’s cheerful beeping. “Hey Q4,” she called. “Get her ready for takeoff.”

Just then, a snowspeeder touched down outside, and Jehan jumped out, clapping Cosette on the shoulder as he passed her, heading to his own Barricade fighter. “Good luck,” Jehan told her as he passed. “I’ll see you at the rendezvous point!”

Though Cosette smiled and nodded, there was a reservation in her smile as she climbed into the cockpit of her fighter, and she stared off into space for a moment until Q4’s insistent beeping broke through her reverie. “Don’t worry, Q4,” she told him, starting the ship’s engines. “We’re going.”

The fighter took off, speeding away from the icy planet. For a moment, Cosette hesitated, staring out at the stars, then shook her head and determinedly flipped a few switches on her dash, her ship banking steeply as she did, flying away from the other Barricade fighters and the rendezvous point. Q4 whistled, alarmed, and Cosette smiled slightly. “Nothing’s wrong, Q4, I’m just setting a new course. We’re not going to regroup with the others.” She looked straight ahead of her, relaxed and determined. “We’re doing to the Digne-les-Bains system.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To the tune of "Fix You", by Coldplay and covered by just about everyone:
> 
> "When your hyperdrive motivator won't succeed  
> And Digne-les-Bains is nothing like your dream  
> And you meet a little man who's very green  
> And you feel cursed
> 
> When asteroids pound the side of your ship  
> And your droid get covered in lake water, ick  
> With Imperials on you like flies on shit  
> Could it be worse?
> 
> Next chapter will come  
> With more problems  
> But you will try to fix them."

While the Musain had made it out of the hangar with little incident, making it through the Imperial fleet was a different matter. The ion cannon had thankfully scattered much of the fleet, but several CANNON fighters and a Star Destroyer pursued the Musain as it sped away from Gorbeau Tènement.

Inside the cockpit, Bossuet let out a loud howl, indicating something on the radar. Grantaire nodded, looking harried as he checking other gauges. “I saw them,” he muttered, brushing Bossuet’s hairy paw aside.

Enjolras leaned forward in his seat, frowning. “Saw what?”

“Star Destroyer, hot on our six,” Grantaire said shortly. He flipped a switch overhead and ordered Joly, “Check the deflector shield.”

MAR-E-S piped up from the back of the cockpit, “Sir, might I suggest—”

Grantaire tossed a glare his way before telling Enjolras, “Shut the droid up or shut it down.” He glanced back at Joly. “Where are we with the deflector shield?” Joly made a regretful noise in the back of his throat and Grantaire paled. “Typical,” he muttered. “Comes through in the clutch only to crap out when we next need it. Well, we can still outmaneuver them.”

“Problem with the deflector shield?” Enjolras asked lightly.

Grantaire didn’t dignify that with a response, instead telling Bossuet, “Prepare to make the jump to lightspeed.”

“But sir!” MAR-E-S squawked, though it was universally ignored as laser blasts narrowly missed the Musain, though the ship was rocked by the blasts nonetheless.

Enjolras glanced out of the window, his brow furrowed. “They’re getting closer,” he warned.

Grantaire grinned a little savagely, grabbing the controls as he told Enjolras, “Not for long! Watch this.”

As one, they all turned to look out the front of the cockpit, waiting for the stars to turn into blurs as the ship made the jump into hyperspace, but after a long moment, it became quite clear that nothing was going to happen. “Watch what?” Enjolras asked, aiming for teasing but missing the mark, worry stark in his voice.

“I think we’re in trouble,” Grantaire said grimly.

There was a brief moment of silence before MAR-E-S informed them, “If I may say so, sir, I noticed earlier that the hyperdrive motivator has been damaged, making it impossible to go to lightspeed.”

“Yup,” Grantaire said. “We’re in trouble.” He glanced back at Enjolras, then turned to Joly. “Joly, take the controls. Bossuet, come with me.”

They dashed from the cockpit towards the back of the ship, ignoring Enjolras, who called after them, “Hey! What about me?”

Enjolras glared at their retreating backs before turning back around, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he tried not to pout. MAR-E-S patted him lightly on the knee. “Don’t worry sir,” it assured him. “They didn’t ask for my help either.”

“I’m not entirely sure that’s reassuring,” Enjolras muttered.

In the back of the ship, Grantaire had disappeared inside an access panel in the floor, working furiously on rearranging some cables and wires in hopes of circumventing the problem in the hyperdrive. Bossuet lingered above, pointing out different things for Grantaire to try. “Well that’s not it,” Grantaire muttered, after receiving a nasty electric shock, and he poked his head out of the hold. “Bring me some hydrospanners.” When Bossuet brought him the tool, Grantaire took them and muttered, “I honestly don’t know how we’re going to get out of this one.”

Then he ducked back into the hold. Bossuet howled mournfully, but there was no disagreement in his tone. Suddenly, a loud _thump_ sounded, and the Musain lurched wildly, buffeted by turbulence. Over the intercom, Enjolras’s voice echoed anxiously, “Grantaire, get your ass up here!”

Grantaire looked around, his eyes wide. “That wasn’t a laser blast,” he realized, and was out of the hold like a shot. “Something hit us!”

As soon as they got to the cockpit, it was apparent just what had hit them, but Enjolras nonetheless informed them grimly, “Asteroids.”

Grantaire touched Enjolras lightly on the arm, and like clockwork they exchanged places seamlessly, Grantaire sliding into the chair as Enjolras took the seat behind him. “Set course six-oh-one,” he ordered, and the ship shifted slightly, though not enough to take it out of the asteroid field.

“What are you doing?” Enjolras demanded, leaning over Grantaire’s shoulder. “You’re not actually crazy enough to go into an asteroid field, are you?”   
  
Shrugging, Grantaire reached up to pat Enjolras condescendingly on the cheek. “Why not?” he asked cheerfully. “They’d be crazy to follow us, wouldn’t they?”

Enjolras jerked away from him and scowled, his scowl deepening as another asteroid broke against the hull of the ship. “You don’t have to do this to impress me,” he said.

Grantaire rolled his eyes, and MAR-E-S added from the back of the cockpit, “Sir, the probability of successfully navigating an asteroid field in a ship of this size and class is approximately twenty-four thousand, six hundred and one to one.”

“Never tell me the odds!” Grantaire half-shouted, as asteroids started pelting the ship from all sides, signalling their arrival in the asteroid field.

Conversation ground to a halt in the cockpit, as Grantaire’s attention was fully on navigating a path through the asteroids, with help from Bossuet and Joly. The smaller asteroids that broke against the ship were minor, causing surface damage at most, but impact with a larger asteroid, even one only a quarter-size of the Musain, could prove devastating.

As if proving the point, one of the CANNON-fighters behind them collided with an asteroid in a spectacular explosion, and the other fighters weren’t faring much better, even with the Star Destroyer behind them blasting at asteroids with its high-powered lasers.  
  
Another, larger asteroid collided with a smaller one off their starboard side and veered wildly off-course, coming directly at the Musain. Bossuet barked a warning, but it was too late — the asteroid hit with a sickening crunch. MAR-E-S yelped and covered its eyes with one of its hands while Enjolras sat stone-faced, his hands gripping the side of his seat.

Grantaire shot a sideways glance at Enjolras and managed a small smile, though it seemed more like a grimace. “You said you wanted to be around when I made a mistake,” he said through gritted teeth. “Well, this might be it.”

“I take it back,” Enjolras said, instantly, though he managed to give Grantaire a fleeting smile, though it was quickly replaced by resolve. “We’re going to get pulverized if we stay out here much longer.”

“Which is precisely why we won’t be,” Grantaire said, nodding towards a massive asteroid looming in the distance. “I’m going to try getting in closer to one of the big ones.”

Enjolras blanched. “Closer?” he exclaimed, followed almost instantly by MAR-E-S’s wail, “Closer?!” and echoed in surround sound by Joly and Bossuet’s howls of disbelief.

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Oh pipe down, the lot of you.” He pointed at the same asteroid. “Don’t you see that, Joly? That’ll be perfect, don’t you think?”

Joly followed his gaze and after a moment, reluctantly growled in agreement, nudging Bossuet, who also seemed to catch on. Enjolras looked back and forth between the three of them, his brow furrowed. “What looks perfect?” he demanded.

MAR-E-S, in the meantime, seemed taken by histrionics, burying its face in its hands as it moaned lowly, “Oh, this is suicide.”

But Enjolras suddenly understood Grantaire’s plan, seeing the large crater looming on the surface of the approaching asteroid, which proved enormous in size the closer they got, and he shook his head slowly, leaning forward again to mutter in Grantaire’s ear, “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

Grantaire snorted. “Yeah. Me too.”

With careful skill, Grantaire turned the ship into the crater, slipping into a cave on the side of the crater, disappearing from the Imperial ships that still followed and the asteroid field alike.

* * *

 

Cosette peered cautiously down at the green-blue planet below her, answering Q4’s beeped question. “Yeah, that’s Digne-les-Bains. I admit it doesn’t look like much, but…” Q4 whistled hopefully and Cosette rolled her eyes. “No, I’m not going to change my mind about this.” Her brow furrowed as she looked closer at the scanner. “Massive life-form readings, but no cities or technology. Either way, we best start making our approach.”

She angled the ship toward the surface of the planet, but it took mere moments before her plans were thrown for a loop -- what had appeared like an innocuous atmosphere from above proved to be instead thick clouds and fog. “All the scopes are dead,” she told Q4, who didn’t seem to be faring much better. “I can’t see a thing! Hold on, I better start the landing cycle…”

Though the landing gear came out smoothly enough, and the reverse thrusters took over from there, Cosette was still flying blind, which was made all the more apparent as she hit tree limbs coming down, and was solidified as the ship landed with a splash in the middle of a pond or lake. “Well, shit,” Cosette sighed, unbuckling her harness and opening the canopy of her ship. When Q4 whistled anxiously, Cosette told it, “No, stay put. I’m going to go have a look around.”

She jumped down, finding that the lake, or bog, or pond, whatever this thing could be termed, was quite shallow at this point, coming up to her waist, and she slogged through it to the shore. “I’m not sure how you’re going to get down,” she told Q4, who let out a low beep. “But I think I see—”

Abruptly, Q4 popped out of its holder and disappeared into the lake. “Q4!” Cosette shouted, staring anxiously at the water. “Q4-RAC, where are you?”

Just as suddenly as it had popped out, Q4 popped up, bobbing in the water as it puttered toward the shore. Cosette visibly relaxed, and she shook her head disapprovingly. “You better be more careful,” she warned. “There’s only one of you, and I need you to get off this planet, whenever that may be. _If_ ever that may be.”

She stood watching as Q4 slowly made its way through the swampy water before finally pulling up on shore, half-covered in seaweed and lake mud, but otherwise looking none the worse for wear. “Are you alright?” Cosette asked anxiously, bending down to examine Q4, who trilled reassuringly. “You’re lucky you didn’t drown — or, well, whatever the droid equivalent of drowning is.”

She started wiping mud from Q4’s metal body, then paused and abruptly slumped to the ground, sighing heavily. “I don’t believe much in signs or portents,” she told it, “but if ever there was one, perhaps this is it. I mean, what in the galaxy are we doing here? I’m following Valjean, but — maybe it was all a dream. Or maybe I’m just going crazy. Neither would surprise me at this point.” She smiled slightly. “I do wish MAR-E-S was here. It’d be sure to tell me what the statistical likelihood is that I am actually crazy.”

Q4 whistled reassuringly, and Cosette sighed. “Really, as long as we find this Myriel, I don’t really care if I’m crazy for hearing Valjean’s voice or if it’s something else.” She glanced around the gloomy clearing, at the twisted trees that lined the perimeter, and it was with a strange voice that she added, “But still, something about this place seems strangely...familiar, for lack of a better term. Perhaps not the place itself, but there’s a feeling here that I can’t quite place, a feeling like—”

“A feeling like what?” a crackly voice asked, and Cosette whirled around, her lightsaber in her hand before she even realized it as she was on her feet in an instant.

“A feeling like we’re being watched,” Cosette finished, a note of triumph in her voice as she stared at the squat, green little creature that met her gaze rather defiantly. He — Cosette thought it was a he, anyway — looked positively ancient, with tufts of white hair coming out of his pointy ears, and he leaned on a walking stick as he stared up at her.

The creature waved a wrinkled, liver-spotted hand, apparently unconcerned by the lightsaber in her hand. “Away put your weapon,” he said, though he sounded rather cheerful as he spoke, despite the strange cadence of his voice. “I mean you no harm. The blessing of safe travel all guests have here. Though I wonder what brings you as guest to here?”

Cosette shrugged as she put her lightsaber back on her belt. “I’m looking for someone,” she told the creature, cautious despite his cheerful and welcoming nature. “Or, rather, I was sent here to find someone. Maybe. Or maybe — well — that is—” She sighed and huffed a light laugh. “Like I said, I’m looking for someone.” 

The creature didn’t laugh, instead nodding contemplatively, a gleam in his eyes as he looked Cosette up and down. “Looking for someone,” he repeated, before nodding sagely and giving Cosette a beatific smile. “Found someone, you have, wouldn’t you say?”

Then he burst into a wheezing sort of laughter, leaving Cosette wondering just what she had gotten herself in to.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Though my Episode IV may have settled the age-old question of "Who shot first?", this chapter is going to introduce its own controversy for fans of the original: "Who kissed whom first?"

Admiral Dahlia hesitated outside the entrance to Darth Moeder’s private compartment. Her abrupt promotion from captain to admiral hadn’t quite given her the time needed to become accustomed to barging in on the Sith Lady whenever she required her.

Of course, watching her commanding officer get strangled to death in front of her hadn’t exactly boosted morale either. 

Still, she had an urgent matter that required Moeder’s attention, so she took a deep breath, knocked on the black door and stepped inside, though as soon as she did, she very much wished she had listened to her gut instinct and hadn’t.

Lady Moeder’s back was to her, but even with the high collar of her usual black garb, it was apparent that one thing was missing from her standard ensemble — her helmet. Instead, Dahlia could see the pale skin stretched translucently over the back of her head, marred and pocked by deep, ugly scars. There were still patches of hair here and there — and Dahlia was surprised that what little hair she could see was a rich blonde that even in its haggard appearance formed beautiful curls — but the skull was for the most part bald. A droid was making some adjustments to Darth Moeder’s face, and Dahlia shuddered, glad that the lady’s back was turned, as Dahlia would rather not look into her eyes.

After a long moment, the droid pulled away and replaced the face mask and helmet on Lady Moeder’s head. Dahlia instantly straightened as the chair swiveled to face her, and she stared unflinchingly into the gaze of the black mask. “Yes, Admiral?” Moeder said, a dangerous lilt to her voice.

“Our ships have spotted the Musain, my lady,” Dahlia reported, though she hesitated a brief second before adding, “But it has entered an asteroid field. We cannot risk—”

Moeder stood, and Dahlia instantly shrank back. Despite having just seen Lady Moeder at perhaps her most vulnerable, it would never compare to seeing Moeder at her most dangerous. “Asteroids do not concern me, Admiral,” Moeder said. “I want that ship and not excuses.”

Dahlia instantly fired off a salute before telling Moeder, “Yes, my lady,” and disappearing out the door with far less hesitation than she had when she entered.

* * *

 

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Enjolras muttered, peering out into the utter blackness of the asteroid cave. It was eerily quiet and eerily dark, neither of which boded well for the Musain, which had parked far enough inside the cave to avoid detection, but which also meant it had parked too far inside for a quick getaway.

If Grantaire shared Enjolras’s sentiments, he didn’t say anything, merely beginning to shut down the engine and electronic systems. “I’m going to shut everything down but the emergency power systems,” he told them, his uncharacteristically subdued voice the only indication of his own feelings.

MAR-E-S glanced up from where it was seated. “Sir, I’m almost afraid to ask, but — does that include shutting me down, too?”

Joly and Bossuet exchanged murderous glances, clearly in favor of that plan, having had to listen to MAR-E-S’s moaning in their ears the entire journey. Enjolras looked as if he wouldn’t mind it either, but Grantaire shook his head. “No, I need you to talk to the Musain and isolate what the exact problem is with the hyperdrive motivator so we can hopefully get it fixed and get off this rock.” 

As if taking offense at his words, the asteroid lurched, sending them all flying in the cockpit. MAR-E-S clattered to the ground and looked up at Grantaire. “Sir, it’s quite possible this asteroid is not entirely stable.”

Grantaire looked as if he was regretting not shutting MAR-E-S down. “Not entirely stable?” he repeated incredulously. “I’m so glad you’re here to tell us these things. Joly, take the professor in the back and plug it into the hyperdrive.”

Joly grinned menacingly and bent to pick MAR-E-S up, even as the droid protested, “I’m only trying to do my job! Oh, I don’t understand human behavior in the—”

The cockpit doors slid shut after them, cutting off MAR-E-S’s indignant speech, and Grantaire glanced at Enjolras, about to say something when the ship lurched again, throwing Enjolras and Grantaire at each other, the two colliding almost full force and falling into one of the cockpit chairs.

Just as abruptly as the lurching had started, the motion stopped, and Enjolras and Grantaire stared at each other, their faces mere inches apart. Enjolras instantly scrambled for purchase, realizing he was essentially sitting in Grantaire’s lap, and his face burned almost as red as his jacket. “Let go,” he said crossly.  
  
“Hold on a moment,” Grantaire told him, equally waspish. “Your elbow is digging into my—”

They accidentally knocked heads together in the struggle, and both instantly stopped moving, staring at each other once more. “Let go, please,” Enjolras said, quietly this time, and though Grantaire held up his hands to indicate he wasn’t the one holding Enjolras back, he couldn’t help but get the last word.

“No need to get excited,” he told Enjolras, a twinkle in his eye as he did.

Predictably, that got a rise out of Enjolras, who quickly freed himself from Grantaire’s lap and stood, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he glared down at Grantaire. “Captain, being held by you isn’t quite enough to get me excited,” he said frostily.

Grantaire stood as well, leaning in so that they were as close standing up as they had been sitting down. “Well, sorry to disappoint you, but we haven’t got time for anything else.”

He held the moment for a beat more, his wicked grin close enough that if Enjolras were just to lean forward… But then he was gone, whistling as he strode through the cockpit door toward the back of the ship, and Enjolras sat down with a huff, his face even more scarlet than before.

Bossuet blinked at him, opened his mouth as if to growl some kind of encouragement, but then quickly decided to take his leave, leaving Enjolras alone in the cockpit with only his thoughts to act as the cold shower he desperately needed.  


* * *

 

The green creature was still cackling as if he had just told the funniest joke of all time, and though Cosette couldn’t help but smile at the infectious laughter, she also realized that this wasn’t exactly helping her find the person she actually sought. “Right, well—” she started, but the creature cut her off with enthusiasm.

“Help you I can,” he said. “Help you find the one you seek.”

Cosette shook her head. “I’m not sure that you can,” she said gently, not wanting to hurt his feelings. “You see, I’m looking for a great warrior—”

The creature let out another squawk of laughter, but this time, there was an edge to it and to his voice as he said, a little sadly. “A great warrior? Wars do not make one great.”  
  
Though under different circumstances, Cosette would have loved to have a philosophical discussion about the nature of war — no, actually, that was a lie, there were no circumstances under which Cosette would want to sit through that discussion — she felt herself getting a little irritated, and started heading toward the edge of the clearing. “Listen, it was nice meeting you and all, but I really do have to get going if I want to find—”

Instead of listening, the creature pointed a wizened finger at the Barricade fighter, half-submerged in the bog. “Cannot get your ship out?” he asked, innocently enough, though the blood still rose in Cosette’s face at the insinuation.

She struggled to keep her temper under control, feeling the anger starting to flood her veins, both at the impossible little creature in front of her and also the whole situation. “Listen, friend,” she said with her last shred of calm, “we didn’t mean to land in that puddle, and if we could get our ship out, we would, but we can’t.” 

“Help you, I can,” the creature offered, and Cosette shook her head. 

“I don’t want your help,” she snapped, without meaning to, and she took a deep breath before adding in a slightly less caustic tone, “I just want to get out of this slimy mudhole.”

The creature looked offended. “Mudhole?” it repeated, its voice rising indignantly. Slimy? My home this is!”

“And I’d be happy to let you keep it,” Cosette said tiredly, still trying to control her temper. “Now why don’t you just move along? I’ve got a lot of work to do.”

Instead of doing so, the creature shook its head, its large, bat-like ears flopping as it did. “No, stay and help, I will,” it said firmly, in a tone that brooked no argument. “Help you find your friend, I will.”

Cosette shook her head as well as she told him impatiently, “I’m not looking for a friend, I’m looking for a Jedi Master!”

The words seemed to have an instant effect on the small creature, who still, his expression becoming serious. “Oh, a Jedi Master,” he said, nodding slowly. “You seek Myriel.”

Startled, Cosette stared at the little creature, who met her stare calmly, resting its hands against its stomach. She shook her head slowly. “Yeah, I’m looking for Myriel,” she said. “Do you know who he is? Or, I guess more importantly, do you know _where_ he is?”

“Oh yes,” the creature said, smiling. “Take you to him, I will. But first, we must eat. Come with me.”

Without warning, the creature turned on heel and limped out of the clearing, surprisingly fast considering it relied on  a walking stick. Though Cosette glanced back at the ship, clearly loath to leave it behind, in case the worst were to happen, she knew this odd little creature might be her only chance of finding Master Myriel. She glanced at Q4. “Stay with the ship,” she ordered. “I’ll be right back.”

Q4 whistled in distress at being left behind, but Cosette ignored it, stalking after the creature. Beeping sadly, Q4 settled in for what could end up being a long wait.

* * *

 

“Oh, where is Q4 when you need it?” MAR-E-S asked, frustrated, as the control panel repeated the strange array of beeping it had previously given. It glanced up at Grantaire as he strode in. “Sir, I don’t know where your ship learned to communicate, but it has the most peculiar dialect. If I am understanding it correctly, sir, the power coupling on the negative axis has been polarized. I’m afraid you’ll have to replace it.”

“Thanks,” Grantaire said, a bit distractedly, grabbing a spool of copper wiring and heading back out again, passing off the wiring as he went to Joly, who was working in the ceiling. “Better replace the negative power coupling while you’re at it,” Grantaire told him, and Joly growled as he waved him off.

Grantaire grinned briefly as he continued on to the engine room, where Enjolras had volunteered to weld some of the loose valves. He went in just as Enjolras was struggling to pull a large lever that would reengage the system. Though Grantaire rushed to help, Enjolras all but body-checked him, scowling at him as he did. “Hey, your worship, I’m only trying to help,” Grantaire said defensively, holding up his hands as he backed away.

“Would you stop calling me that?” Enjolras asked through gritted teeth as he pulled in vain on the lever.

Leaning on the railguard of the platform, Grantaire shrugged. “Sure, Enjolras,” he said, his voice quiet.

Enjolras glanced over at him, his face flushed, though whether from exertion or something else was anyone’s guess. He gave up on the lever and straightened, brushing sweaty blond curls from his face as he did. “It’s just...you make it so difficult sometimes,” Enjolras said, a bit reluctantly.

Grantaire smiled at him, but it was a sweeter, gentler smile than his normal roguish grin. “I do, I really do,” he said musingly, though his tone changed as he raised an eyebrow at Enjolras. “Though you could stand to be a little nicer. I mean, admit it, sometimes you think I’m alright.”

Snorting, Enjolras rubbed his hand, wincing slightly as he felt the blister beginning to form. “Occasionally,” he admitted, and managed a small smile. “When you aren’t acting like a scoundrel.”

Grantaire laughed at that, a genuine laugh with no irony or sarcasm in its tone. “Scoundrel?” he repeated, grinning widely. “I like the sound of that.” He reached out and gestured toward Enjolras, who, almost against his better judgment, took a step closer. As he did, Grantaire caught Enjolras’s hand in his own and started gently massaging the sore, raw skin.

“Stop that,” Enjolras said automatically, his voice breathy, and he made no attempt to pull away. 

Though Grantaire instantly let Enjolras’s hand go, he gave Enjolras a confused look. “Did you want me to ask your permission?” he asked, a little wryly. 

Enjolras flushed. “No, it’s just—” He cast about for an excuse and blurted, “My hands are dirty.”

“So are mine,” Grantaire pointed out, taking a step away from Enjolras. “Look, if you don’t want me to touch you, you know that I won’t—”

Shaking his head, Enjolras told him without thinking, “That’s not it at all.”

Grantaire raised an eyebrow at him. “Then you _do_ want me to touch you?” he asked, mock innocently.

Enjolras flushed even deeper. “You know that’s not what I meant,” he said, exasperated.

Grantaire shook his head. “No, I think that _is_ what you meant,” he said evenly. “And I think that you like me precisely because I am a scoundrel, and there aren’t enough scoundrels in your life.”

Rolling his eyes, Enjolras told him, “I happen to like nice men.”

Grantaire grinned slowly. “I’m a nice man.” 

“Be serious,” Enjolras snapped, though without any heat.

Leaning in, Grantaire whispered, “I am wild.” Then, carefully, he reached down and took Enjolras’s hand again, his touch gentle, and he told him, his voice still soft, “Be easy.”

Without warning, Enjolras closed the space between them and kissed Grantaire, pushing him back toward the rail as he did. Grantaire kissed Enjolras back, almost desperately, his hands balling in Enjolras’s red coat as if he might somehow pull him even closer. Though there was desperation in them, desperation built by time and tension and everything that had ever been said between them, the moment seemed infinite, and soft, and there was gentleness too, as Enjolras cupped Grantaire’s ruddy cheek with his free hand, his skin pale against Grantaire’s, and as Grantaire tangled his fingers in Enjolras’s blond hair. They moved as one, breathed as one, kissed as one, as if they would never part again, until—

“Sir, sir!” The two broke apart instantly as MAR-E-S burst into the engine room, speaking excitedly. “I’ve isolated the reverse power flux coupling.”

Grantaire rested his forehead on Enjolras’s for a brief moment before taking a forced step back and turning to MAR-E-S, looking rather like he wanted to throw the droid over the rail into the engine below. “Thank you,” he said, as sarcastic as he had ever been. “Thank you very much.”

“Oh, you’re perfectly  welcome, sir,” MAR-E-S said, not picking up on the mood, and it disappeared out of the room. Grantaire glanced back at Enjolras, who had already stepped back over to this lever, his cheeks pink as he avoided Grantaire’s gaze. Grantaire sighed, once, before following MAR-E-S out of the room and leaving Enjolras behind once more.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Late is the hour in which the Jedi Master choses to appear. Late also is this chapter, but for markedly different reason. Anyway, Jedi Masters and Emperors are finally introduced.

The mood on the bridge of the star destroyer was tense, owing in large part to the rather fantastic display of colliding asteroids happening just outside the bridge window. The only person who seemed unmoved by the display was Darth Moeder, who watched impassively as a CANNON ship veered to avoid hitting an asteroid, only to smash into the side of another.

Over her shoulder, Admiral Dahlia was standing nervously at attention, a trickle of sweat dripping down the back of her neck as she told Moeder, “That was the last time they appeared on any of our scopes. Considering the amount of damage our own fleet has sustained, they must have been destroyed.”

Moeder did not turn, and her voice was cold as she replied, “No, admiral, they’re alive, and I want every ship available to sweep the asteroid field until they are found.” Dahlia bit back her retort that the number of available ships was dwindling and instead nodded respectfully. Still, she did not turn to leave, and Moeder finally did turn to stare at her. “Is there something more, Admiral?”

Admiral Dahlia nodded, feeling even more nervous than before with what she was about to report. “The Emperor commands you make contact with him,” she said, her mouth dry.

“Move the ship out of the asteroid field so that we can send a clear transmission,” Moeder ordered instantly, and as Dahlia scurried to obey, Moeder headed for her own private chamber to prepare herself for a conversation with the Emperor.

If Lady Moeder had the effect of scaring even the sturdiest of soldiers, it was nothing compared to the reaction the Emperor struck even in Moeder herself: fear, terror even, and respect, yes, but the grudging kind bore from threat and not earned, but something more, something deeper, that spoke of a relationship none other could understand. Moeder was almost completely subservient to the Emperor’s will, and none could even guess what hold the Emperor had over her.

“Leave me,” Moeder ordered as soon as she reached her chamber, and the red-clad guards silently exited. She sat in her throne-like chair and waved her hand, using the Force to turn on the holographic projector. After a long moment, a hologram appeared, the projection showing a black-robed and hooded man, slumped in an even grander throne than the one Moeder occupied. Though the hood hid much of his face, it could not hide everything, including his wrinkled skin and balding hair, and he on occasion raised a handkerchief to his eye, which would not stop watering. 

Moeder bowed her head before asking in a low voice, “What is thy bidding, my master?”

The Emperor stared at her with a burning malevolence in his eyes before declaring, in a surprisingly young-sounding voice, considering his aged appearance, “There has been a great disturbance in the Force.”

“I, too, have felt it,” Moeder told him, her head still bowed.

The Emperor did not seem surprised by this. “We have a new enemy,” he continued. “Cosette Fauchelevent.”

Moeder did look up at this, and while her mask hid her expression, there was just a touch of raw emotion in her voice as she said, “An enemy, perhaps, but not a threat. She is only a girl, and Obi-Wan can no longer help him.”

“The Force is strong with her,” the Emperor continued, as if Moeder had no spoken. “She could destroy us, and we must not allow her to become a Jedi.”

Moeder bowed her head again, and stayed silent for a long moment, as if thinking of something. Finally, she said carefully, her voice still low and deferent, “If she could be turned to the Dark Side, she would become a powerful ally.”

Leaning back in his chair, the Emperor tapped his chin slowly. “Yes,” he said, slowly, the wheels in his head turning, and he smiled slightly. “Yes. She would be a great asset.” The smile slid off his face just as quickly as it had appeared. “But can it be done? And more importantly, will you be able to take care of it if it can’t be?”

The last question was pointed, and crafty, and Moeder straightened, her gaze boring into the hologram. “She will join us or die, my master,” she said, her voice hard, with no hint of emotion. Then, slowly, she stood before taking a knee to bow to the Emperor, who smiled again, a satisfied smile, and raised his hand in a dark and twisted benediction before the hologram disappeared.

* * *

 

Cosette hit her head on the top of the mud hut she was uncomfortably seated in, the third time she’d done so in the past twenty minutes. She glanced miserably out the tiny window at the torrential rain that had started, and sighed before turning back to the little creature, who was humming cheerfully as he bustled around his little kitchen.

Everything in the dwelling was tiny, perhaps unsurprising given its owner’s stature, and Cosette, who was not a large woman by any means, still felt giant amongst the minute furniture and belongings.   
  
Shifting uncomfortably, Cosette started, “Look, I’m sure whatever you’re making is delicious, but I don’t understand why we can’t see Myriel now.”

The creature half-turned, waving his small ladle in Cosette’s direction. “Patience!” he told her, smiling widely. “For the Jedi it is time to east as well.” With that, he turned back to the wood-burning stove before finally turning back around, two bowls in his hand, and he held one out for Cosette. “Eat, eat!” he encouraged.

Though Cosette took the bowl and even took a bite of the slightly suspicious-looking stew  **—**  she was surprised to find it was delicious — she quickly swallowed her first bite and asked urgently, “How far away is Myriel? Will it take us long to get there? The rain’s picked up, so if it would be easier for you, I can always go myself, were you to give me directions.”

Shaking his head, the creature settled down into his chair in front of the fire with a contented sigh. “Not far,” he assured Cosette, taking a large bite of his food before adding, “Patience. Soon you will be with him. Now eat.”

Cosette sighed but realized the argument was at least temporarily lost, and settled in to eat her food instead. For a long moment, the hut was silent, save from the scrape of spoons against bowls and the crackle of the fire. Then, unexpectedly, Myriel asked, “Why wish you to become a Jedi?”

“Mostly because of my mother, I guess,” Cosette said, surprised. “She—” She broke off and shook her head. “Well, she’s a bit of an inspiration in that regard.”

The creature nodded sagely. “Ah,” he said softly. “Your mother. A powerful Jedi was she. Quite powerful.”

Cosette stared at him, feeling like she was on the back end of a cruel joke. “You can’t possibly know my mother,” she said coldly. “You don’t even know who I am, let alone who she was.” She set her bowl down, feeling anger flare in her once more, and she gripped her hair as she spat, “And I don’t even know what I’m _doing_ here, other than wasting my time.”

The creature slowly set down his bowl, his small shoulders set as he looked off somewhere in the distance. “I cannot teach her,” he said, as if speaking to someone who was not there. “Too much anger, too little patience.”

Whirling around, Cosette stared wildly behind her, but couldn’t possibly see who the creature was speaking to. Then, suddenly, her expression fell, realizing what this must mean, and she turned slowly back around, her face burning as she heard Valjean’s voice say calmly, “She can learn patience.”

“But can she unlearn anger?” Myriel asked, for he must be Myriel, staring at Cosette with his wise old eyes, and Cosette felt her cheeks burn even hotter under his examining gaze. “Much anger in her, like her mother. And her mother never did unlearn hers.”

“But I did,” Valjean told him steadily. “Under your guidance, in fact. Or do you not remember the boy I once was, and the state in which you found me?”

Myriel just shook his head. “Difference, there was,” he pointed out. “Ready, you were. Ready, she is not." 

Cosette shook her head, finally regaining her ability to speak. “Myriel, I...I am ready! Valjean! Tell him. I can be a Jedi. Valjean, tell him I’m ready.”

As she craned her head around, trying to see Valjean, Cosette hit her head for the fourth time on the ceiling, and she slumped down, rubbing her head. “Ready, are you?” Myriel asked, amused, though when he spoke next, his tone was serious. “For eight hundred years have I trained Jedi. My own counsel I will keep on who is to be trained — my own counsel, and the will of the Force speaking through me.” He gestured at Cosette, who sat stone-faced. “A Jedi must have the deepest commitment, the most serious mind. And this one, a long time have I watched, and never her mind was on where he was, or what he was doing. Adventure, excitement — a castle on a cloud—” Cosette’s face burned at that, and she ducked her head, feeling tears burn in her eyes. “—A Jedi craves not these things.”

For a moment, there was silence, before Valjean said quietly, “But does she crave these things now?”

Myriel harrumphed, though it was clear what Valjean had said had resonated with him. Then, abruptly, he said, “She is too old. Yes, too old to begin the training.”

Cosette leaned forward, realizing that there was perhaps an opening, and she said quietly, plaintively, “But I’ve learned so much already, in such a short time.”

Myriel turned his gaze on Cosette, and for a moment Cosette felt like his piercing gaze could see right through her and somehow determine the veracity of the statement, and she held her chin up, knowing what she said to be true. Then Myriel shook his head slightly. “But will she finish what she begins?” he asked, more to himself than anything else, asking a question as if it were an answer to a query only he knew.

Though Cosette swallowed, hard, she told him firmly, no quaver in her voice, “I won’t fail you. I’m not afraid.”

Myriel did smile slightly at that, but it was not his saintly smile from earlier. Rather, it was a calculating smile, but one also of acquiescence. “But you will be,” he said. “You will be.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjolras and Grantaire come to a horrible conclusion about the cave they're in, Cosette has an unfortunate encounter in a cave of her own, and Admiral Dahlia probably wishes she had a cave to hide in by the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Mild violence/decapitation cw.**

“Shit,” Grantaire swore, hitting his head as he resurfaced from the access port to grab a different tool and ducked down again, hitting his head again on the way down. “ _Shit_.”

MAR-E-S peered over the edge of the access port at him. “Sir, if I may venture an opinion—” the droid started, but Grantaire resurfaced again — without hitting his head that time **—**  to glare at it.

“Not really the time for your opinion,” he told it, grabbing yet another tool and started to bend down when suddenly, Enjolras burst through the door, his face white. “Enjolras?” Grantaire asked, surprised.

Enjolras gestured over his shoulder. “There’s something alive in the cave,” he reported, sounding out of breath. “I was making some adjustments in the cockpit—” Bossuet growled in protest, but Enjolras and Grantaire both ignored him “—and something flew past the window.” 

For a moment, it looked as if Grantaire was trying hard not to smile, and Enjolras glared at him. “If you even _dare_ make a joke right now…” he started warningly, and Grantaire quickly held up his hands.

“Wouldn’t dare,” he told him, before adding under his breath, “Scaredy-cat.” Before Enjolras could reply, Grantaire had clambered out of the access port and was passing him, heading towards the ramp. “I’m going to go check it out,” Grantaire called over his shoulder.

Enjolras followed him, scowling. “Are you crazy?” he asked. “We don’t know what it is, and you’re just going to go out there?”

Grantaire turned and raised an eyebrow at him. “Yeah. I am. I just got this bucket of bolts put back together, and whatever is out there, I’m not just going to sit around and let it tear this ship apart.” He paused before patting the ship’s wall. “No offense, baby.”

Enjolras stared at him with narrowed eyes for a moment before declaring, “Fine. Then I’m coming with you.”

“Suit yourself,” Grantaire told him, grinning, as he tossed him a breathing mask. “Just don’t blame me if you get scared.” 

“Keep this up and I’ll _give_ you something to be scared about,” Enjolras muttered threateningly, following Grantaire down the ramp and into the cave.

The first thing they noticed was the ground, which was not hard and rocky like the outside of the asteroid at all. “It’s spongy,” Enjolras said, surprised, bending to run his hands over the oddly textured ground. “And there’s a lot of moisture here, more than you’d expect for an asteroid cave.”

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” Grantaire muttered, aiming his flashlight up into the roof of the cave, and then he pointed. “Look, that must be what you saw flying. Mynocks. They’re probably trying to chew on the power cables. I ran into them on—” 

He paused, suddenly losing all color from his face, and Enjolras asked urgently, “What? What’s going on?”

Grantaire shook his head and shoved Enjolras back toward the ramp. “Get back on the ship,” he ordered tightly before barking into his comlink, “Joly, start the engine sequence. We need to get out of here _now_.”

“Why?” Enjolras asked, bewildered, following Grantaire as he sprinted towards the ship. “What the hell is going on?”

“Mynocks don’t live in outer space,” Grantaire reported tersely, ripping off his breathing mask as soon as they were inside and heading towards the cockpit without breaking stride.

Though Enjolras kept pace, he still seemed confused. “Well, evidently they do, since how else would they be on an asteroid?”

Grantaire shook his head, sliding into the pilot’s seat. “They don’t, because we’re not on an asteroid.” He glanced at Joly. “All systems ready? Then let’s get out of here.”

“But the Empire is still out there,” Enjolras protested, falling into a seat as the ship took off. “I don’t think it’s wise to—”

“No time to discuss this in a committee,” Grantaire replied shortly, toggling the controls.

Enjolras seethed, “I am _not_ a committee —” but he was cut off by the cave, which suddenly started rumbling uncontrollably.

Joly howled as he tried to make last-minute adjustments as the cave seemed to start closing in around them. “I see it, I see it,” Grantaire muttered, and Enjolras was about to ask what ‘it’ was, when suddenly, he could see it too — a row of jagged stalagmites and stalactites surrounding the entrance of the cave and slowly moving towards each other, causing the entrance to narrow.  
  
“The cave is collapsing!” he said, though judging by the look on Grantaire and the Wookiees’ faces, they already knew.

“This isn’t a cave,” Grantaire told her, before slamming on the throttle. The Musain shot forward, just making it through the rocks at the mouth of the cave before it slammed shut. As they went, Enjolras realized what Grantaire meant, and ‘mouth’ of the cave had never seemed more apt — what they thought was a tunnel entrance had instead been the mouth of an enormous space slug, whose gargantuan head followed them out of the cave until the Musain had made it far enough into the asteroid field to escape its clutches. Then it lowered its head back in and opened its wide mouth, waiting for its next victim.

* * *

  
  
The steam was thick and aromatic, perfumed with whatever herbs Myriel was burning as they sat in meditative silence in a small mud hut deep in the forest. Myriel had led Cosette there in silence, telling her only, “A Jedi’s strength comes not from the limbs, not from the body, but first from the mind. And to strengthen the mind, one must learn to quiet the mind.”

Which had left them here, in this hut, sitting in silence for the better part of the day. Cosette had at first found it hard, irritating even, to sit in silence without doing anything. She itched for action — she always had. But Myriel was right — quieting her mind would better tune her to the living Force, enabling her to feel it flowing through and around her.

She lost track of time as the morning turned to afternoon and steadily approached evening, and she was startled when Myriel started speaking in a low voice. “When found with potential a young Jedi was, to the Jedi temple they used to come to begin their training. The mind is the first to be trained, and then emotion. From there, the body will come, but without a strong mind, without trained emotion, to the Dark Side, a Jedi will be tempted. Anger, fear, aggression — the Dark Side of the Force are they. Easily they flow, quick to join you in a fight. If once you start down the dark path, forever will it dominate your destiny. Consume you, it will, as it Valjean’s apprentice.”

“Moeder,” Cosette said heavily, before asking, “Is the Dark Side stronger?”

Myriel shook his head. “No,” he said, firmly. “No. Quicker, easier, more seductive, yes. But stronger — no.”

Cosette nodded slowly. “How am I to know the good side from the bad, and the right path from the wrong?”

“You will know,” Myriel said simply. “When you are calm, at peace, passive. A Jedi uses the Force for knowledge and defense, never for attack. That will guide you, not emotion.”

Shaking her head, Cosette asked, “But can’t you use positive emotions to guide you as well? Why can’t I—”

Myriel shook his head as well as he interrupted, “No, no, there is no why.” He sat back, his eyes hooded, and told Cosette, “Nothing more will I teach you today. Clear your mind of questions.”

Cosette bit her lip, feeling the questions gnawing away at her, and Myriel smiled slightly. “Not so easy for you to do, is it?” he mused, and shook his head slowly. “Many questions I sense in you, and knowledge is a powerful thing, but you must be sure you seek the right knowledge.”

Before she could stop herself, Cosette burst, “But what about balance?”

“Balance?” Myriel repeated quietly, his eyes boring into hers. “What of balance?”

Cosette blushed slightly and looked away. “Valjean told me my mother’s lightsaber blade meant balance, and ever since, I have been thinking of it and what it means. Can you have balance with only the light side of the Force, and none of the dark?”

Myriel shook his head slowly. “Dangerous questions you ask, and dangerous answers you seek.” He rose to feet and beckoned for Cosette to follow him, leading her outside the hut and toward a deep ravine. Then he stopped and gestured toward the cave. “If dangerous answers you seek, there shall you find some.” He paused before adding, “If you know the right questions to ask.”

Taking a step towards it, Cosette stopped, shivering. “I feel cold,” she said, her voice strange to her own ears. “It...it feels like death.”

“This place is strong with the Dark Side of the Force,” Myriel told her. “A domain of evil. In you must go, if you are to seek the answers you desire.”

Cosette shuddered. “But what’s in there?”

Myriel tilted his head slightly. “Only what you take with you.” For a moment, Cosette hesitated, then shrugged and started towards the ravine, only pausing when Myriel added, “Your weapons...in there you will not need them.”

Though Cosette hesitated again, she left her lightsaber strapped on her belt, and started into the ravine. It sloped down to the mouth of a dark, wet cave, and Cosette pulled out her lightsaber, igniting the blade to cast light on her path as she stepped forward. There were no bats there, no spiders, no life of any type, and the very breath seemed to catch in Cosette’s throat as she continued forward.

The way was narrow, but it widened the further she went in, and Cosette’s grip on her lightsaber tightened. Then, without warning, Darth Moeder stepped into the cave, her lightsaber lit and at the ready. Without warning, she charged Cosette, who only just managed to sidestep and raise her own lightsaber to parry.

Moeder stepped back, inviting Cosette to attack, and she did, her purple blade slashing through the air and beating back Moeder’s red one. Then, as quickly as it had started, the fight was over, Moeder stumbling and Cosette sweeping her blade in a perfect arc, decapitating Moeder with the blow.

Moeder’s head landed on the stone ground and did not bounce, but the front of her mask cracked and disappeared, revealing not her own face beneath it but Cosette’s, staring back up at Cosette, who was horrified. “How?” she asked in a whisper, though there was no one to answer as the image faded away, leaving only blackness in its wake.

Then Cosette turned and stumbled out of the cave, shaking so badly that she could barely walk, and when she got back up the ravine, she all but collapsed on the ground. Myriel did not seem surprised to see her in such a state, and Cosette only just managed to ask, “Do you know…?”

Myriel understood, and nodded. “Yes. What saw you, I too saw.”

“But what did it mean?” Cosette asked, still shaken. 

Myriel looked up at her. “Do you not know?” he asked, surprised. When she merely shook her head, he shook his as well, a little sadly. “Then all I can say is that it was the answer to a question you’ve yet to ask.”

* * *

  
  
Moeder stood impassively watching the motley group of men and creatures that were assembling in the hallway. Next to her, Admiral Dahlia looked unimpressed by the sight. “Bounty hunters,” she said, barely disguised disgust in her voice. “We don’t need that scum, my lady, if you’ll pardon my saying. Those rebels won’t escape us.”  
  
Ignoring her, Moeder stepped forward, pacing slowly down the line, looking each bounty hunter up and down. She stopped in front of the one at the end, the Mandalore in his weapon-scarred suit. “You are the bounty hunter Javert, are you not?” Moeder asked.

The bounty hunter inclined his head. “Yes,” he said, his voice gravelly. “Then you know who I seek?” 

Moeder also nodded, and moved down the line again. Dahlia cleared her throat as Moeder drew near. “My lady, that bounty hunter, Javert — they say he seeks only one bounty. Does he not know that the rebel scum Valjean is dead?”

“He does not know and I have no intention of telling him,” Moeder said coldly. “He believes Valjean with those we seek, and thus will do everything to seek them out, which is all I care about.” Raising her voice, she addressed the assembled bounty hunters and Dahlia took a step back, conferring in undertones with an officer. “There will be a substantial reward for the one who finds the Musain. You are free to use any methods necessary, but I want them alive. No disintegrations.”

The last order caused some dissension in the ranks, but it was interrupted by Dahlia, who exclaimed, “Lady Moeder! My lady, we have them.”  


* * *

 

An asteroid burst against the side of the Musain, and Grantaire swore, swearing even more vigorously when he saw how quickly the Star Destroyer was gaining on them. “I’ve had enough of this shit,” he grumbled. “Joly, get ready for the jump to hyperspace. On the count of three. One — two — three!”

He pulled back on the throttle, and nothing happened. He whimpered and whined, “It’s not fair!” Bossuet barked his own feelings, and Grantaire snapped, “The transfer circuits _are_ working. It’s not my fault!”

Enjolras sighed heavily, and asked, in a tone that showed he rather expected this, “No lightspeed?”

“It’s not my fault,” Grantaire repeated, as they were buffeted by even more asteroids.

MAR-E-S interjected, “Sir, we just lost the main rear deflector shield. One more direct hit on the back quarter and we’re done for.”

For a moment, Grantaire looked panicked. Then, abruptly, he grabbed a lever and pulled it, looking determined. “Turn her around,” he ordered, and when Joly and Bossuet just stared at him, repeated, “I said turn her around. I’m going to put all the power in the front shield.”

“You’re going to attack them?” Enjolras asked, stunned, while MAR-E-S trilled, “Sir, the odds of surviving a direct assault on an Imperial Stay Destroyer—”

“Shut up!” Enjolras and Grantaire said in unison, and Enjolras turned back to Grantaire, worried, though when he saw the look on Grantaire’s face, he found himself relaxing slightly, against all odds. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” he muttered, though there was a strain of confidence in his voice that had not been there before.

Grantaire flashed him a brief smile before turning all of his attention to the Star Destroyer that loomed ominously in front of them.

* * *

 

Admiral Dahlia stood on the bridge, shaking her head slowly in disbelief at the sight of the tiny ship turning and racing towards them. Her bemusement turned harder when she realized that the ship was heading straight toward the bridge, setting off alarms throughout the ship. “They’re moving to attack position. Shields up!”

The ship still continued on a direct, collision course, and against her better judgment, Dahlia and the officers on the bridge ducked. Thankfully, at the last moment, the Musain veered off and out of sight, and the admiral and officers slowly stood, glancing around. “Track them,” Dahlia ordered. “They may come around for another pass.”

“Admiral Dahlia?” an officer said, in a strangled-sounding voice, and Dahlia turned, frowning. “The...the ship no longer appears on her scopes.”

“What?” Dahlia asked, hurrying to the computer. “They can’t possibly have disappeared. No ship that small has a cloaking device.”

She stared at the scope as if willing the ship to reappear, and the tracking officer added, quite unhelpfully, “Well, there’s no trace of them, ma’am.”

The communications officer cleared his throat. “Admiral, Lady Moeder demands an update on the pursuit.”

Slowly, Admiral Dahlia straightened, her face pale, and she drew herself to her full height. “I shall assume full responsibility for losing them, and apologize to Lady Moeder,” she told her troops. “Meanwhile, continue to scan the area.”

The troops saluted, each looking as if they realized that this may be the last time they watched their commanding officer leave the bridge.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which I break the fourth wall in a way that will only make sense to those who subscribe to the notion that the timeline in the Empire Strikes Back is actual quite a [gaping plot hole](http://www.cracked.com/article_16625_8-classic-movies-that-got-away-with-gaping-plot-holes_p2.html), which I only partially do, but c'mon, breaking the fourth wall is just so much fun.

“Feel the Force moving through you,” Myriel said, staring intently at Cosette, whose eyes were closed as she sat crosslegged on the ground in the swamp. “Now, feel the stone in front of you.” A wrinkle that creased Cosette’s brow was the only indication of her strain as slowly, the stone in front of her lifted wobbily into the air. “Good,” Myriel praised, before adding, “Now, you must—” only to be cut off my Q4’s frantic beeping.

Cosette’s eyes snapped open and she looked around wildly as the rock went crashing back to the swamp. “Concentrate!” Myriel barked, but Cosette was no longer paying attention, instead getting to her feet when she saw what had caught Q4’s attention.

“We’ll never get it out now!” she exclaimed, watching as her Barricade fighter slipped under the water in the bog. 

Myriel snorted. “So certain are you,” he said. “Hear you nothing that I have said?”

Cosette frowned at the ship and turned a skeptical gaze on Myriel. “Forgive me, Master, but moving stones around it one thing. This is totally different.”

Gesturing with his walking stick, Myriel said emphatically, “No! It is no different, only different in your mind.” He stamped his walking stick against the ground. “You _must_ unlearn what you have learned. Focus, concentrate. Feel the Force.”

Abashed, Cosette ducked her head and nodded slowly. “Alright then,” she said quietly, closing her eyes as she directed her focus toward the ship. “I’ll try.”

Again Myriel struck his walking stick on the ground. “Try not,” he commanded. “Do, or do not. There is no try.”

Cosette nodded again and took a deep, steadying breath. Slowly, the fighter’s nose began to rise above the water, and Cosette’s fingers curled compulsively, biting her lip as she struggled to control the Force flowing through her and direct it towards the ship. After a long moment, the ship slid back into the water, and Cosette let out her breath in a pant, opening her eyes and staring sadly at the lake. “I can’t,” she told Myriel, breathing heavily. “It’s too big.” 

“Size matters not,” Myriel told her. “Look at me. Judge me by my size, do you?” When Cosette shook her head, still panting, Myriel nodded officiously. “And well you should not, for my ally is the Force, and a powerful ally it is.” He waved his hand, and within an instant, the very leaves on the trees seemed to face them, and the wind stilled in the clearing. Myriel took on a reverent tone as he spoke, smoothing his hand over the bark of a tree. “Life creates it, makes it grow. Its energy surrounds us and binds. Luminous beings are we, not this crude matter. You must feel the Force around you, through you. Here, between you, me, the tree, the rock, everywhere! Yes, even between the land and that ship.”

For a moment, Cosette looked absolutely enthralled with what he was saying, pure faith shining on her face as she listened to him speak. But then she looked back at where the ship had been, and the faith so apparent previously slipped off her face, replaced by uncertainty.

Myriel noticed and shook his head, turning towards the disappeared ship. He closed his eyes and raised his hands, gesturing as if to raise the ship up. And rise it did, straight out of the water, as Cosette looked on, amazed. Slowly, with no more effort than the slight movement of his arms, Myriel directed the ship toward dry land, and it set down carefully on the shore, as gracefully as if Cosette had landed it there herself.

Cosette stared opening in astonishment, and she turned to face Myriel, her face shining again. “I don’t believe it!” she exclaimed. 

Myriel nodded slowly before telling her, “That is why you fail.”

* * *

 

Clutching desperately at her throat, Dahlia collapsed to the floor, and Moeder watched her writhe for a few moments before unclenching her first. “Apology accepted, Admiral Dahlia.” She turned to leave the lifeless body behind, striding towards General Listolier, who snapped to attention.

“Lady Moeder,” he said courteously, bowing. “Forgive me, my lady, as I am always happy to answer to your call, but my expertise has always laid with ground troops and infantry, and I find the navy quite beyond me.”

Moeder shrugged imperiously. “You have done well with the ground troops, and as you can see, we are in short supply of admirals, so for the moment, you will have to do. And you can start by updating me on the status on the hunt for the Musain.”

Listolier nodded sharply before reporting, “Our ships have completed their scan of the area and found nothing. If the Musain went into lightspeed, it’ll be on the other side of the galaxy by now.”

“Alert all commands,” Moeder ordered. “Calculate every possible destination along their last known trajectory, and deploy the fleet accordingly.”

Nodding, Listolier saluted before telling her confidently, “Yes, my lady. We’ll find them.” 

Moeder pointed with one black-gloved finger at Listolier. “Don’t fail me as well, General.”

Listolier swallowed hard and nodded, turning on heel to begin barking orders at the assembled crew. “Alert all commands,” he said, his voice cracking slightly with nerves. “Deploy the fleet!”

He hurried away and Moeder turned back to the bridge, clearly brooding as she sought down her prey.

* * *

 

“We’re dead,” MAR-E-S moaned, covering its eyes with its hand. “We’re absolutely dead.”

“The real miracle is that we’re not,” Grantaire muttered, grinning slightly as he looked out the cockpit window. Their vantage point was unbeatable, seeing as how they were perched on the back side of the Star Destroyer, just out of sight and too close for any scanners to pick him up properly. Grantaire leaned forward, peering down, and told Joly in an undertone, “The fleet is beginning to break up. Go back and stand by the manual release for the landing claw.”  
  
MAR-E-S shook its head. “I really don’t see how that’s going to help. Surrender is a perfectly acceptable alternative in extreme circumstances. The Empire may even be gracious enough—”

Enjolras reached over and shut MAR-E-S off mid-sentence, and Grantaire shot him a grateful look. “Thank you,” he said.

“You can thank me by telling me what the hell your next move is going to be,” Enjolras replied bluntly.

To his surprise, Grantaire laughed lightly, and sat back in his chair. “Well, if they follow stand procedure, they’ll dump their garbage before they go to lightspeed, and then we’ll just...float away.”

Enjolras nodded slowly, a small smile lifting the corners of his lips. “With the rest of the garbage. And then what?”

“Then we’ll have to find a safe port somewhere around here to repair the hyperdrive.” He leaned forward. “I don’t suppose you’ve got any ideas?”

Shrugging, Enjolras asked, “Depends — where are we?”

Grantaire glanced at the star map and told him, “The Pologne system.”

“Pologne,” Enjolras repeated slowly, before shaking his head. “There’s not much there, if I recall correctly.”

Grantaire merely snorted in response, still looking over the star map, and suddenly, he perked up. “Well, this is interesting. Feuilly.”

He pulled up the map on the computer screen to show Enjolras, who slipped out of his chair to perch on the arm of Grantaire’s, frowning slightly as he looked at the map. “The Feuilly system?” he repeated.

“Feuilly’s not a system, he’s a man,” Grantaire told him. “A card player, gambler, scoundrel. And more importantly where you’re concerned, an orphan who adopted the people as his family. Hell, you’ll probably love him.”

Enjolras glanced sideways at him, not sure whether to take that as a compliment or not. “Thanks,” he said dryly, hedging his bets. 

Grantaire ignored him, tracing the path on the map. “Glaciere...It’s a bit far but I think we’ll be able to make it.”

“Far?” Enjolras repeated, sounding skeptical. “How long will it take us to get to this ‘Feuilly’?”

Grantaire hesitated. "It's hard to say," he hedged. 

Enjolras frowned at him. "What do you mean? How can simple distance be hard to say?"

Shrugging, Grantaire leaned forward. "Well, see, there’s things that have been going on simultaneously for awhile, and depending on how you look at it, either we were in that asteroid crater for several weeks, or else the journey to Feuilly’s will take several weeks, or else once we get there, we’ll be there for several weeks. Either that or everything that’s been happening while we’ve been chilling in a crater had taken, like, a couple of hours, which doesn’t make a lot of sense.”

Enjolras stared at him, completely baffled. "Um," he started. "Ok."

Grantaire raised an eyebrow at him. "I feel like you have questions."

"Only one, really," Enjolras admitted, "which is, 'how long will it take to get to Feuilly's?'."

Grantaire sighed. "About half a chapter's worth of action, ok?" 

Enjolras frowned. "How long is that in light years?"

Sighing again, Grantaire leaned in and kissed his cheek. "Don't you worry your pretty little head about it." 

"My head is _not_ pretty," Enjolras said angrily, and Grantaire just laughed. Enjolras scowled and attempted to redirect the conversation. “It’s a mining colony?”

Grantaire was still grinning. “Yeah, a gas mine. Feuilly probably conned somebody out of it.” He leaned back, his expression turning contemplative. “We go back a long way, Feuilly and me.”

Enjolras looked at him closely. “Can you trust him?”

Shaking his head slowly, Grantaire seemed to come back to reality. “Not necessarily, but he has no love for the Empire, I can tell you that. And as they say, the enemy of my enemy, blah blah blah.” Suddenly, Joly growled over the intercom and Grantaire sat up, turning back toward the controls. “Here we go -- Stand by -- detach!”

As the Star Destroyer moved slowly forward, the hatch on its underbelly opened, sending a trail of junk behind it. The Musain, detached from the larger ship’s surface, tumbled away with the rest of the refuse. Grantaire leaned back in his chair and gave Enjolras a wide grin. Though Enjolras rolled his eyes and shook his head, he also leaned in and gave him a quick kiss before telling him, “You do have your moments. Not many, but you do have them.”

Moments later, the Musain’s engines ignited, and it raced off into the distance. Slowly, moving out of where it had been lurking in the garbage, the bounty hunter Javert’s ship _Honneur_ sped after them.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Does the walker choose the path, or the path the walker? I don't have a good answer, but you can bet your bottom dollar that Cosette's going to be wondering that quite a bit from here on out. Also, Enjolras and Grantaire finally get to Feuilly's, but things may not be all what they seem.

Cosette was upside-down in a graceful handstand, her eyes closed and her expression serene, showing little sign of strain as the objects in the clearing around her rose straight into the air at Myriel’s quiet command. Suddenly, without warning, distressed beeping split the clearing as Q4 rose into the air, its little legs kicking desperately as its head turned.

Cracking one eye open, Cosette called, “Sorry, Q4.” 

She returned the little droid back to earth, and Myriel chuckled before admonishing gently, “Concentrate.” He tapped the back of Cosette’s legs, but she didn’t flinch. “See,” Myriel told her, triumphantly, “did I not tell you? When clear your mind is, when strong the Force is, so too is your body. So too will be your mind.”

He settled down near to her, sitting cross-legged and closing his eyes as well. “Through the Force, things you will see. Visions of other places. The future...the past. Old friends long gone. And the present, too, places far away.”

Cosette’s forehead wrinkled, and she shook her head slightly, her arms trembling for the first time that day. “Grantaire,” she muttered, sweat beading on her forehead. “Enjolras!”

She tumbled to the ground, and would have knocked Myriel over in the process had he not quickly dived out of the way. “Control!” Myriel told her, brushing dirt off of his robes. “You must learn control!”

Shaking her head, Cosette told him anxiously, “But I saw something, Master. A city in the clouds.”

Myriel closed his eyes for a brief moment, then nodded, his eyes opening as he looked at Cosette seriously. “Ah, yes,” he murmured. “Friends you have there. Or will have. Not so linear is the Force, not so easy to understand.”

“They were in pain,” Cosette said quietly.

Myriel nodded again. “It is the future you see.”

Cosette shivered and drew her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs. “So that was the future,” she murmured before looking at Myriel and asking in a quiet but resolved tone, “Will they die?”

“Impossible to see,” Myriel said instantly, reassuringly, and he managed a small smile for her. “Always in motion is the future, always changing depending on choices and decisions. Fate may be the only sure thing, and not even that is a straight path.”

Cosette stood, her face ashen, and she told Myriel, “I’ve got to go to them — to warn them or save them or—”

“If you leave now, you would destroy all for which they have fought and suffered,” Myriel told hr plainly, gazing up at her calmly, as if he had expected this moment, this argument. “Help them you could, yes, but to what greater end? If now you leave without completing your training, in the long run will you be able to help? To bring about an end to the Empire, to the Dark Side?” Cosette stared at him, indecision stark on her face, and Myriel sighed softly before telling her, “Decide you must on how best you can serve them and their Cause.”

For a moment, it looked as if Cosette might argue further, but instead she bowed her head in acquiescence, though her expression did not quite smooth back into neutral as she sat back down next to Myriel. 

* * *

  
  
The Musain headed toward the surprisingly pretty planet of Glaciere, which was gaseous, with huge, billowing clouds covering most of the cityscape. Enjolras peered over Grantaire’s shoulders, pointing out a building in the horizon. “Do you see that?” he asked, his voice odd. “It looks like a castle...in the clouds…”

Grantaire glanced back at him, amused. “A castle in the clouds?” he asked.

Enjolras shook his head and sat back. “It’s...I don’t know. Like a memory, almost, but I don’t know of what.”

“You’re going soft in your old age,” Grantaire told him cheerfully, but he was cut off from further remarks by a sudden angry voice over his headset. “I’m sorry, can you repeat that?” he asked, but then the ship was buffeted by gunfire, and Grantaire yelped. “What the hell?” he barked over the transmitter. “No, I don’t have a landing permit, but if you’ll just let me talk to Feuilly—”

Instead, more blasts rocked the ship before a stern voice commanded, “You will not deviate from your present course.”

“I thought you knew this Feuilly,” Enjolras said mildly, trying  not to sound too accusatory.

Joly didn’t seem to have such qualms, growling at Grantaire, who looked affronted. “Hey, that was a long time ago. I’m sure he’s forgotten all about that.” Enjolras gave Grantaire a skeptical look and he flashed his most appeasing grin in response. Still, his grin slipped off as he turned back to the front, receiving orders over the intercom to land on a remote platform. “There’s nothing to worry about,” he reassured the Wookiees and Enjolras, none of whom looked even remotely convinced. “We go way back, Feuilly and me.” He glanced over at Joly and added in an undertone, “But maybe we should got out armed just in case.”

They armed themselves to the teeth before lowering the ramp and taking a few cautious steps down it. “Oh, no one to meet us,” MAR-E-S said, either trying to break the tension or completely oblivious to it.

Enjolras glanced to the left and right, adjusting his grip on his blaster. “I don’t like this,” he muttered in undertones to Grantaire, who huffed a sigh.

“Well, what _would_ you like?” he hissed, taking another few steps down the ramp. “Look, everything is going to be fine, trust me.”

The door to the platform swished open and they all instantly raised their blasters, though Grantaire quickly lowered his, recognizing the tall black man leading the group heading towards them on the platform. “See, there’s my friend now,” he told Enjolras before muttering to Bossuet, “Keep your eyes open, would you?”

Grantaire walked down the ramp, wearing his most charming grin, and Feuilly drew to a stop about ten feet from him, frowning as he crossed his arms in front of his chest. “You slimy, double-crossing, no-good swindler,” Feuilly proclaimed, and Grantaire looked offended. “You’ve got a lot of guts coming here after what you pulled.”

“Hey now,” Grantaire said cautiously, eyeing the blaster at Feuilly’s side as he edged forward, “if this is about the time in the place with the thing, I’ll have you know—”

He was cut off by Feuilly’s sudden laughter, and his offended expression turned startled as Feuilly darted forward to pull him into an embrace. “How are you doing, you old pirate?” Feuilly asked, ruffling Grantaire’s hair good-naturedly. “I never thought I’d see you again. Where have you been?”

As Grantaire laughed weakly and tried to flatten his now-disheveled curls, Enjolras cautiously came down the ramp, followed by MAR-E-S, who said cheerfully, “Well, he seems very friendly.”

“Yeah, friendly,” Enjolras agreed warily, his finger still on his blaster.

Feuilly slung an arm around Grantaire’s shoulders, beaming at the Musain. “So what are you doing here?” he asked.

Grantaire gestured at the ship. “Repairs. I was hoping you could help me out, seeing as how you’re a little partial to the old girl.” 

Scowling, Feuilly asked, “What have you done to my ship?”

“Your ship?” Grantaire shot back. “What do you mean, _your_ ship?”

“Well it wasn’t you who carved ‘Long Live the Peoples’ in the wall, now was it?” Feuilly asked.

Grantaire snorted. “Of course not, but I still won her fair and square.” At the look on Feuilly’s face, he amended, “At least, I won her. One way or another.   
  
Joly and Bossuet growled their greeting as they arrived over Grantaire’s shoulder, but Feuilly had eyes only for Enjolras, who appeared at the same moment. “Well, what have we here?” Feuilly asked, tipping a wink to Grantaire, who scowled, his expression turning sour as Feuilly gave Enjolras a winning smile. “Welcome, my name’s Feuilly. I’m the administrator of this facility. And who might you be?”

Enjolras shot a look at Grantaire, who was still staring sourly at Feuilly, and instantly put on his most charming smile. “My name is Enjolras,” he said, allowing Feuilly to shake his hand, his smile widening when he saw the muscle working in Grantaire’s jaw.

“Anyway,” Grantaire interrupted loudly, sliding between Enjolras and Feuilly, “like I said, I was hoping you could help with the repairs. My droid has a readout of what we need.”

MAR-E-S waved helpfully before starting, “Hello sir, I am MAR-E-S, human-cyborg relations. My facilities are at your—” But Feuilly had already turned away, walking with Enjolras and Grantaire towards the city, and MAR-E-S said, perturbed, “How rude!”

Feuilly gestured at the Sullustan at his side, resplendent in a scarlet waistcoat. “This is Baho Rel. He’s the best pilot I’ve seen, besides myself, of course.” He paused, and Grantaire’s scowl deepened before Feuilly continued, “And besides you, Grantaire.” Grantaire just harrumphed and Feuilly quickly changed the subject. “So what’s wrong with the Musain?”

“Hyperdrive,” Grantaire said shortly.

“I’ll get my people to work on it right away,” Feuilly promised, nodding at Baho Rel, who nodded back before giving instructions in the strangely melodic Sullustese language.

Enjolras glanced between Grantaire and Feuilly, amused by Grantaire’s sour mood. “So, Feuilly, Grantaire tells me that you were an orphan who adopted the people as your family?”

Feuilly looked surprised, and nodded. “That’s right. The people’s struggles became mine, so to speak. Why, just in the Pologne system alone, you should see what’s happening to some of the planets under Empire rule — they’re being torn apart, partitioned to the highest bidders.” His tone turned bitter. “It’s the least one can do to try to keep a planet together these days and out of Empire control.”

Enjolras looked practically ecstatic at the reply, and Grantaire shook his head, realizing he had created a monster. “So is the gas mining going well for you, then?” he asked, almost reluctantly.

Feuilly seemed to falter slightly at the question, and he shrugged uncomfortably. “Not as well as I would like. We’re a small outpost and not very self-sufficient, and like every outpost outside of Empire control, we’ve had an influx of refugees and accompanying supply problems.” He glanced over at Grantaire, who was grinning, and frowned. “What’s so funny?”

“You just sound so responsible,” Grantaire teased.

“I always _was_ responsible,” Feuilly replied sourly. “Or have you forgotten that while _you_ were loafing around in between pirate gigs, I was working full time in a shop to make ends meet.” Grantaire looked suitably abashed and Feuilly took a deep breath before laughing lightly. “You know, seeing you sure brings back a few things.”

Grantaire winked. “And hopefully not all bad.” Laughing, Feuilly put an arm around his shoulder and hugged him close again as they entered the main building.

Further down the platform, MAR-E-S hurried to try to catch up with the quickly disappearing group. “Wait for me!” it called, but everyone ignored it. “How rude,” it grumbled, though it looked up hopefully as the doors swished open again. “Oh my,” it said, startled at the white-clad figures that strode out onto the platform. “Oh, I’m terribly sorry, I’m just running a bit behind, and—”

A laserbolt hit MAR-E-S square in the chest, sending it flying backwards in twenty different pieces.

* * *

 

Cosette woke with a start, sitting up in the tiny hut and gasping, “Stormtroopers!” Q4 beeped a question and Cosette shook her head slowly. “Sorry, Q4, I think...I think I was having a dream…” She tried to smile at the droid but couldn’t seem to manage it, unable to get the images out of her head. “They’re in trouble, Q4,” she muttered, “and I may the only one who can help them.”

As soon as she said it, it seemed to solidify her decision, and she quickly bent to gather her few belongings, not looking up as Myriel said quietly, “So decided to go you have.”

“I have,” she said, standing as best she could and slinging her pack over her back and heading outside of the cramped hut.

Myriel shook his head. “You must complete your training!” he insisted, following her to the Barricade fighter.

Cosette shook her head as well, though she avoided Myriel’s gaze as she loaded her things into the ship. “I can’t get that vision out of my head. They’re my friends, and I’ve got to help them.” Myriel shook his head again, and Cosette added, an edge of desperation to her voice, “Enjolras and Grantaire will die if I don’t!”

“You don’t know that.” This time, it was not Myriel who spoke, but Valjean, Cosette’s eyes widening in amazement as Valjean seemed to materialize out of thin air to stand as a slightly shimmering image near Myriel. “Even Myriel cannot see their fate.”

“But I can still help them!” Cosette protested. “I’ve learned so much! I feel the Force now!”

Valjean shook his head. “But you cannot control it.” His tone was kind and warm and so familiar that Cosette almost wanted to weep just as the sound of it, though she managed to hold it together. “This is a dangerous time for you, when you will be tempted by the Dark Side of the Force.”

Myriel added quietly, “The cave. Remember your failure at the cave.”

Cosette just shook her head. “You told me then that it was the answer to a question I did not yet know I was answering, and maybe you’re right, Master Myriel, but that doesn’t mean that I’ll find that question here.” Her words seemed to have little impact on Myriel, who just shook his head, but Valjean frowned slightly as he listened. “I’ve learned so much since then, but I know my education isn’t done. And that’s why I’m going to come back. I promise — I’ll return and finish what I’ve begun. You have my word.”

“It is you and your abilities that the Emperor wants,” Valjean told her. “That is why your friends are made to suffer.”

Cosette met his eyes steadily. “And that is why I have to go.”  
  
Valjean’s voice was soft and a little hurt as he told her, “Cosette, I don’t want to lose you to the Emperor the way I lost Moeder.” 

Though Cosette closed her eyes for a brief moment and swallowed hard, she still opened her eyes to tell Valjean, an edge to her voice, “You won’t.”

“Stopped the Emperor and Moeder must be, that is certain,” Myriel told them both before adding as a warning, “But only a fully trained Jedi Knight with the Force as her ally will conquer Moeder and her Emperor. If you end your training now, if you choose the quick and easy path and give into your anger and fear as Moeder did, you will become an agent of evil.”

Cosette shook her head as she argued hotly, “But this _isn’t_ the quick and easy path. I’m not leaving because I’m quitting or giving up, or because I’m giving in to anger or fear! Sacrificing Enjolras and Grantaire will not make me a better Jedi, not when there is so much they can still do for the Revolution!”

“If you honor what they fight for, you would not do this,” Myriel said starkly.

That stopped Cosette for a moment, and she shook her head again as she struggled to come up with another argument that would make them understand. Valjean cleared his throat before telling her softly, “If you choose to face Moeder, you will do it alone. I cannot interfere.”

Cosette looked at him and nodded, understanding the risk, and the sacrifice she was also making in leaving. But she _had_ to  — to save Enjolras and Grantaire, yes, and to use the Force for the purpose it was meant to be used, protecting the innocent and stopping evil. “I understand,” she told him, and she did, more than she could say, and it was with the heaviest heart she had ever felt that she told Q4, “Fire up the engine.”

She did not look back at Valjean and Myriel as she clambered into the cockpit, not wishing to continue their argument, not wanting them to talk her out of what she knew was right in her heart. When she finally did look at them again, Valjean was looking at her sadly. “Do not give in to anger,” he told her. “That will lead you to the Dark Side.”

“Strong is Moeder,” Myriel said, a little gruffly. “Mind what you have learned. Save you it can.”

“I will,” Cosette told him before telling them both, “And I’ll return. I promise.”

With that, the cockpit slid closed, and Myriel and Valjean both watched as the engines roared to life, lifting the ship up and away. “Told you, I did,” Myriel sighed when the ship was gone. “Anger, she has, anger like her mother. Now our last hope is gone.”

Valjean shook his head slightly. “What of her brother?”

Myriel snorted. “More anger has he, and a dangerous fire. No, she was to be the best chance we had. And now gone she is.”

He turned to shuffle back to his hut, and Valjean asked, “What will you do now?”

“Pray for her,” Myriel replied, not turning back as he left. “Pray for us all, I will.”


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feuilly surprises Enjolras and Grantaire. Not in a good way.

Enjolras frowned at his reflection in the mirror hanging on the hall of the room he had been assigned for his stay. As much as he knew he should appreciate the separate quarters, a part of him missed the noise and cramped conditions on the Musain. And while it was nice to change out of the cold-weather gear he had been wearing since leaving Gorbeau Tènement, he wasn’t sure about the new clothes he had been given, though at least the awfully-clingy shirt he had changed into was his favorite color, red. 

His opinion of his new clothes was solidified when Grantaire knocked on the door, mouth open as if to say something and then stayed open as he stared. “I’ll take it you like the new clothes,” Enjolras said dryly.

Grantaire managed to tear his eyes away to smile a little sheepishly at him. “They’re, uh, great. Nice of Feuilly to dress us and such.”

“Uh-huh,” Enjolras said, raising an eyebrow as he looked at Grantaire. “And you don’t look to bad yourself.” Grantaire blushed and grinned, and Enjolras rolled his eyes before asking, “How is the ship coming along?” 

“Almost finished,” Grantaire assured him. “Maybe two or three more things to fix and then we’re in great shape.” 

Enjolras nodded slowly. “The sooner the better,” he said, a little grimly. “Something’s wrong here. No one has seen or knows anything about MAR-E-S, and it’s been gone way too long to have gotten lost.”

Though Grantaire also nodded, his expression softened and took a step forward to take Enjolras’s hand and leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Relax,” he soothed. “I’ll talk to Feuilly and see what I can find out. Besides, we’ll be gone soon.”

Enjolras took a step back, though he didn’t pull his hand away from Grantaire. “And then you’re good as gone, aren’t you?” he asked quietly.

Grantaire did drop his hand then, his expression odd. “Well, I have to pay my debt to Thénardier,” he mumbled. “But — I mean **—**  maybe I don’t have to be gone for good.” He glanced nervously at Enjolras before adding daringly, “But I wouldn’t be coming back for the Revolution.”

Though Enjolras rolled his eyes, something in his expression changed, and he was about to respond when Joly and Bossuet burst into the room, howling distraughtly. “What in the **—** ” Grantaire started, though he stopped abruptly when Bossuet gently set the broken pieces of MAR-E-S on the bed.

“What happened?” Enjolras demanded furiously.

Joly growled a response, and Grantaire looked taken aback. “You found him on a _junk_ pile?” he repeated. He glanced down at the broken mess and shook his head. “Well do you think you can repair him?”

Bossuet and Joly glanced at each other and shrugged, and Enjolras suggested, “Well, maybe Feuilly’s got someone **—** ”

As if on cue, the door swished open and Feuilly strode in, looking around concernedly when he saw their expressions. “I’m sorry, am I interrupting something?” he asked. Enjolras and Grantaire exchanged dark glances and shook their heads in unison. “Well, may I just say, _you_ look absolutely stunning,” Feuilly told Enjolras. “You truly belong with us here among the clouds.”

“Um, thank you,” Enjolras said, turning red, and Grantaire scowled.

Feuilly just smiled at them. “Will you join me for a little refreshment?” When Grantaire’s scowl deepened, Feuilly quickly added, “Everyone’s invited, of course.”

Grantaire smiled, a little too-widely to be genuine. “Sure, no problem.” He offered his arm to Enjolras, who rolled his eyes but nonetheless took it, following Feuilly through the door.

Positioning himself on the other side of Enjolras, Feuilly started explaining the basis of their operations to them as they walked. “See, since we’re a small operation, we don’t fall under the, uh, jurisdiction of the Empire.”

“Are you part of the mining guild, then?” Enjolras asked, interest piqued.

“Actually, no,” Feuilly responded, with enthusiasm **—**  this was obviously a topic he cared a great deal about. “Our operation is small enough to not be noticed by just about anyone, which is advantageous since most of our customers are eager to avoid attracting attention. We’re a self-owned and self-operated organization. The workers hold the power hear, and we put most things to a vote.”

Almost against his will, Enjolras smiled at him, though it replaced by concern. “Aren’t you afraid the Empire will find out about this operation and shut you down?”

Feuilly shook his head. “Shutting it down is actually the least of my concerns,” he muttered. “The bigger concern is the Empire placing operations under their control and removing power from the people and partitioning the different functions of the planet. I’ve seen it done too many times, and it’s just awful the way it splits the people apart.” He paused and took a deep breath before forcing a smile onto his face. “But things have developed recently that I believe will ensure security and keep the Empire out of here.”

Grantaire’s brow furrowed and he was about to enquire further when the doors to the dining room swished open, revealing the tall, dark figure of Darth Moeder, who sat at the far end of a huge banquet table, with the bounty hunter Javert standing over her shoulder.

Without hesitation, Grantaire drew his blaster and fired a shot directly at Moeder’s chest, but she almost lazily waved her hand, deflecting the bolts and pulling Grantaire’s blaster out of his hand and to her. “We would be honored if you would join us,” she told them, her deep voice sounding almost pleasant, though there was a dangerous timbre to the words.  
  
Enjolras glanced over at Feuilly, furious, and Feuilly shrugged helplessly. “They arrived right before you did,” he told them,” as stormtroopers strode up to grab Enjolras and Grantaire’s arms. “I had no choice. I’m sorry!”

Grantaire just glared at him as the stormtroopers pulled them away. “There’s always a choice,” he growled, “and you made yours.”

* * *

 

Cosette was grim-faced as her ship approached the planet where thick clouds held her friends somewhere. “We’re almost there,” she told Q4, though the words were mostly meant to reassure herself, not the little droid, who beeped and whistled worriedly despite her attempt at reassurance.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Cosette told Q4, with confidence she didn’t at all feel. “At the very least, Grantaire will look out for Enjolras. That I know without a doubt.” 

* * *

 

The sounds echoing from the prison cell were muffled but unmistakable, and Feuilly flinched at the sound of every new cry, standing as far away as he possibly could from the glowering bounty hunter who stood by the door, his arms crossed menacingly in front of chest.

The door opened, and Moeder stepped out, looking unsurprised to see both men waiting for her. She turned first to Javert. “You may take Captain Grantaire to Thénardier after I have Fauchelevent.”

Javert frowned. “He’s no good to me dead,” he said, jerking his head toward the screams that started up again. “I need him for information on the bounty I truly seek.”

“He will not be permanently damaged,” Moeder said dismissively, and Javert just glowered at her in response.

Feuilly cleared his throat and stepped forward. “Lady Moeder,” he started, trying not to spit the words and trying to hide the disgust from his voice and expression. “What about Enjolras and the Wookiees?”

Moeder turned to face him, and Feuilly shrank back slightly. “They must never be allowed to leave Glaciere,” she told him.

“That was never a condition of our agreement!” Feuilly exclaimed, his hands curling into fists. “Nor, for that matter, was giving Grantaire to this bounty hunter!” 

Moeder’s head tilted slightly, and her voice was quiet but dangerous as she asked, “Perhaps you think you’re being treated unfairly? Perhaps you would prefer an alternative arrangement?”

For a moment, it looked as if Feuilly was going to agree to just that, but then he seemed to deflate, and he shook his head slowly. “No,” he muttered, turning away from Moeder and the sound of his friend being tortured.

“Good,” Moeder said, adjusting her gloves as she added, “It would be unfortunate if I had to leave a garrison here.”

With that said, she strode off, flanked by two stormtroopers. Feuilly glanced over at Javert, who seemed content to wait for as long as the torture took. But with the renewed cries and screams, Feuilly was not, and he shook his head as he left as well, muttering to himself, “This deal’s getting worse all the time.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I don't think it'd be that bad to be frozen in carbonite. Like, there are definitely worse things that could happen to a person. Of course, being frozen in carbonite when the love of your life and your closest friends are all in mortal peril isn't exactly _ideal_ , but...

Enjolras peered worriedly over Joly’s shoulder as he carefully pieced MAR-E-S back together in the small, dark prison cell. The arms had been no issue to reconnect, but Joly, having been distracted by Bossuet telling him something, had accidentally put MAR-E-S’s head on backwards, and the droid, having unfortunately recovered the power of speech, was quite cross. “You stupid furball,” it groused. “Only an overgrown mophead like you would be stupid enough to put me together backwards. Perhaps you should let Bossuet have a try — perhaps he—”

Joly growled and disconnected the circuit powering MAR-E-S’s vocal processor. Suddenly, Bossuet sat up and pointed at the cell door, howling concernedly. Enjolras looked up as well, his expression tightening as he heard was sounded like something heavy being dragged towards the cell.

The cell door slid open and Grantaire was unceremoniously shoved into the room by two stormtroopers who didn’t linger, closing the door immediately after Grantaire was through. Grantaire pitched forward and would have fallen if it weren’t for Bossuet, who caught him, growling piteously as he gently cradled the man. “I’m fine,” Grantaire told him, though his teeth were gritted in a way that revealed the lie. He had a cut over one eye, but that was the only visible sign of the damage they had inflicted on him; the trembling in his hands and his sunken eyes showed far more.

Bossuet carried him over to the platform and Enjolras hurried over, concerned. “I’m fine,” Grantaire repeated, grimacing, and he made a half-assed attempt to push Bossuet away. “Just going to suffocate from Wookiee fur.”

Though Enjolras tried to smile at Grantaire’s attempted joke, he could quite manage it, and instead focused on cleaning Grantaire’s wound. “Why are they doing this?” he asked, more to himself than anything, though Grantaire still shrugged and winced.

“They never even asked me any questions,” he said quietly.

Suddenly, the cell door opened again and Feuilly stepped inside, followed by Baho Rel. Enjolras and Bossuet stood instantly, accidentally tipping Grantaire over onto the floor in the process. “You,” Enjolras growled, echoed by actual growls from both Joly and Bossuet.

Grantaire shook his fist feebly from the floor. “Get out of here,” he spat, though his words were slightly muffled, given his position.

“Shut up and listen,” Feuilly told them, his voice strained. “There’s more going on here than what you realize. First and most importantly, Moeder has agreed to turn Enjolras, Joly and Bossuet over to me. They’ll have to stay here, but at least they’ll be safe.”

Enjolras shook his head. “And what about Grantaire?” he demanded.

Feuilly shrugged. “Moeder’s giving him to the bounty hunter.”

“Typical,” Grantaire grumbled, slowly moving into a sitting position. “Moeder wants us all dead, after all.”

Shaking his head, Feuilly told them, “She doesn’t want you at all. She’s after somebody else, somebody called Fauchelevent.”

“Cosette?” Grantaire and Enjolras said in unison, surprised, and Feuilly nodded.

“Moeder has set a trap for her.”

Grantaire groaned and laid back down. “Of course,” he said. “And we’re the bait.”

Enjolras’s eyes flashed and without warning, he decked Feuilly in the face, sending him reeling backwards. Baho Rel shouted incomprehensibly, and both Wookiees howled, but Feuilly held up his hands in surrender. “Stop!” he shouted. “I’m with you. _We’re_ with you.”

“With us?” Enjolras snarled. “Do you even understand the concept?”

Baho Rel snarled in response, but Feuilly placed a gentle hand on his arm. “Better than you might know,” he said. “Because our operations go mostly unnoticed, we’ve been a major resource for smuggling. And most recently, that’s meant smuggling resources for the Revolution.” Enjolras looked taken aback, and Grantaire cracked an eye open. “Why do you think Baho Rel is here? The Sullustans are major allies to the Revolution, you know that. Do you honestly think he’d let me give in to the Empire?” He gestured at Joly and Bossuet. “Would _they_ let _you_?”

Grantaire slowly sat up again. “So you’re doing this for the Revolution?” he asked quietly.

Feuilly nodded. “Yeah. And I’m sorry you got the raw end of the deal, but this will keep the Empire out of the business here and keep resources flowing to the Revolution.” He glanced at Enjolras, whose expression was drawn. “And sometimes that means sacrificing someone for the good of the movement. Enjolras, you know that.”

Enjolras looked torn between fury and a sort of quiet resignation. Then he took a deep breath and said slowly, “The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.” Without warning, he punched Feuilly again. “But that’s still for Cosette.”

Wincing, Feuilly rubbed his jaw before telling them, “I’m sorry I couldn’t do better.”

With that said, he left, and Enjolras turned towards Grantaire, his expression dark. Grantaire just shrugged before saying ruefully, “Well, you sure have a way with people.”  


* * *

 

Moeder looked around the large chamber, examining the pipes and chemical tanks closely before turning her attention to the round pit and hydraulic platform in the middle of the room. “This facility is crude, but it should be adequate to freeze Fauchelevent for her journey to the Emperor,” she told Feuilly, who nodded, his eyes hooded.

A stormtrooper approached, saluting Moeder before reporting, “Lady Moeder, ship approaching. Barricade-class.”

“Good,” Moeder said. “Monitor her and allow her to land. She will find her way to us.”

The stormtrooper saluted again before leaving, and Feuilly cleared his throat. “Lady Moeder, we only use this facility for carbon freezing. If you put her in there, it might kill her.”

Moeder considered it for a moment. “I do not want the Emperor’s prize damaged,” she said slowly. “Which means we must test the system first. We will test it on Captain Grantaire.”

“What?” Feuilly started, dismayed. “But—” He broke off, realizing that argument was futile, and bowed his head instead, a muscle working in his jaw.

Moeder surveyed him coolly, something like triumph in her voice as she ordered the stormtroopers, “Bring me the prisoners!”

* * *

 

They were assembled quickly in the chamber, amid a variety of activity as people rushed to and fro, checking gauges and monitors. MAR-E-S, still not fully repaired, was strapped to Bossuet’s back, while its legs were in Joly’s satchel, and it fretted loudly as they were pushed and prodded into place, “Now, remember, Bossuet, you have a responsibility to me, so please try not to harm me more than I already am.”

As Bossuet grumbled his response, Grantaire frowned at Feuilly as he asked him in pointed undertones, “What’s going on here?”

“You’re being put into carbon freeze,” Feuilly responded emotionlessly, not meeting Grantaire’s eyes. “Lady Moeder has ordered it.”

The stormtroopers grabbed Grantaire, ready to wrench him away from the group, and Joly and Bossuet both snarled in response. “Stop it,” Grantaire ordered quietly, a resigned look on his face, allowing the stormtroopers to pull him to the center of the room and place him on the hydraulic lift. “Guys, save your strength. You have to look after MAR-E-S.”

“Yes, please,” the droid sighed in relief. “I’m not ready to die.”

Enjolras swallowed, hard, trying to blink back the tears that filled his eyes. “And what about me?” he asked roughly.

Grantaire smiled at him, a little crookedly. “You’ve never needed anyone to look after you, and I wouldn’t dare presume otherwise now.”  
  
Wrenching his arm out of the stormtrooper’s grip, Enjolras surged forward to kiss Grantaire, a desperate, heated kiss that ended far too soon with the stormtrooper yanking Enjolras back and clapping his hands in binders. “I love you,” Enjolras told him, desperation and resolution warring in his voice, the loud, clear proclamation at once a declaration and a warning to all assembled.

Grantaire’s grin turned wicked for a brief moment as he responded simply, “I know.”

Enjolras couldn’t help but choke out a short laugh that sounded far too much like a sob at what may very well have been Grantaire’s final time making him laugh against all odds. Then, the platform dropped, taking Grantaire with it. Enjolras did not turn away from the sight, squaring his shoulders as he watched the carbon liquid pouring into the hole.

After what seemed like an eternity, a huge set of metal tongs reached into the pit and lifted a solid, metal rectangle out, setting with a crash on the platform. For the first time, Enjolras flinched, and closed his eyes for a brief second at the image of Grantaire molded into the metal. His hands were outstretched, as if trying to hold back the metal that had encased him, or as if reaching out for help, but what was worse was the expression permanently etched onto his face: grief and defiance and pain, so much pain.

It hurt to look at, but Enjolras nonetheless forced his eyes back open to watch as the works prepared the carbonite for transfer. Feuilly stepped forward as well, his hands shaking as he adjusted some knobs, measuring the temperature of the metal block. His shoulders slumped in relief. “He’s alive,” he reported, meeting Enjolras’s eyes as he did, and Enjolras’s eyes closed again briefly, this time in relief. “He’s alive and in perfect hibernation.”

“Good,” Moeder said, turning to Javert and gesturing towards the carbonite. “He is all yours. Take him away, and then reset the chamber for Fauchelevent.”

One of the stormtroopers listened to an urgent message through his headset before telling Moeder, “Fauchelevent has just landed.”

Moeder nodded. “Excellent. She will find her way here. Feuilly, take the prince and the Wookiees to my ship.”

Feuilly and Enjolras both stared at him, Enjolras in defiance, Feuilly in outrage. “You said they’d be left in the city under my supervision!”

“I am altering the deal,” Moeder told her, squeezing her fist just slightly, and Feuilly’s hand flew to his throat as he coughed and choked. “Pray that I don’t alter it any further.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Biggest takeaway from this chapter? Admiral Ackbar may have the most famous "It's a trap!" but Leia totally said it first. So unoriginal, Ackbar. Honestly. #copycat

Cosette slipped carefully down a deserted corridor, followed closely by Q4, who was the quietest he had ever been. She paused, hearing distant footsteps, and drew her blaster, crouching down as she peered around a corner.

She saw Javert leading two guards who pushed an odd-looking gray slab and were followed by two stormtroopers. Cosette didn’t hesitate, firing off two shots to take down both stormtroopers. Though the guards quickly pushed the gray slab down another hallway, Javert stood his ground, firing a laser back at Cosette, who only just managed to avoid it by diving out of the way.

By the time she had recovered, the bounty hunter had disappeared, and Cosette took a deep breath before continuing forward and turning down the passage she thought Javert might have disappeared down. Instead, she saw Enjolras, Joly and Bossuet being herded down a different hallway by several other stormtroopers.

Enjolras glanced over at just the right moment and saw her, his eyes widening, and he struggled against the binders on his wrists. “Cosette!” he shouted. “Don’t **—**  it’s a trap! It’s a trap!”

Before he could elaborate any further, he and the others were pushed through a doorway and out of sight. “Q4, stay here,” Cosette ordered before holstering her blaster and racing after them.

As soon as she went through the doorway that they had disappeared into, she knew something was wrong, and not just because the door behind her slammed shut with a metal clang. She was underneath a larger room, she could tell, judging by the slats in the metal grating above her head. This lower room was empty save for hissing pipes that released steam at intermittent intervals. The only place to go was up, and as soon as she reached that conclusion, a platform descended into the center of the room. Cosette drew her lightsaber and slowly stepped onto the platform.

At once, the platform rose, taking her up into the larger chamber above, which was dimly lit and eerily quiet. The only light seemed to lead her directly to a staircase in front of her, and with only a little hesitation, Cosette stepped forward towards the stairs.

She saw movement and glanced up to see Darth Moeder standing at the top of the stairs, her only lightsaber drawn and ignited, staring down at Cosette through her dark mask. “The Force is with you, young Fauchelevent,” Moeder pronounced, something solemn in her tone, and Cosette’s breathing and heart rate accelerated as she slowly climbed the steps. “But you are not a Jedi yet.”

Cosette ignited her lightsaber in response, and lunged upward, her purple saber meeting Moeder’s red with a shower of sparks. She leapt over the last few steps and landed squarely at the top, facing Moeder head-on, and moved in to attack again.

* * *

 

Enjolras’s teeth were gritted and a bruise was blossoming across his cheek from where a stormtrooper had hit him with the butt of his blaster after yanking him away from Cosette. He was barely paying attention as they marched along, and so was surprised when blasts suddenly erupted around them.

Baho Rel and several members of the city guard appeared to have ambushed them, and in no time at all, the stormtroopers were overwhelmed and unarmed. Baho Rel chortled triumphantly, beaming at them all as he tossed one of the stormtroopers’ blasters first to Feuilly and then to Enjolras, who caught it, startled.

“Well done,” Feuilly told them all, grinning as well. “Take them to the security tower — and keep it quiet.”

Enjolras glanced from the blaster in his hands to Feuilly, who was undoing Bossuet’s binders. “What do you think you’re doing?” he asked coldly.

Feuilly glanced up at him and then back down at what he was doing. “There’s still a chance to save Grantaire,” he said. “You’re going to have to trust me, which I know will be difficult, but—”

“If there’s a chance to save Grantaire, I’d trust more than you,” Enjolras say, a muscle working in his jaw as Baho Rel stepped forward to help him out of his own binders. “But what about Cosette? We need to save her as well.” 

For a brief moment, Feuilly looked conflicted, then shook his head. “If we want to help Grantaire, we have to move. I hate to say it, but your friend Cosette is on her own.”

Enjolras was clearly torn at the idea, but at the urgent growls and chatter from the Wookies and Baho Rel, he bowed his head and swallowed hard. “Alright,” he said, determination returning. “Then let’s go get Grantaire.”

* * *

 

Moeder pulled back, seeming relaxed as she casually parried Cosette’s blows. “You have learned much, young one,” she told Cosette.

Cosette gritted her teeth, not breaking her concentration as she aggressively swung her own lightsaber, forcing Moeder back. “You’ll find I’m full of surprises,” she growled.

“You’re not the only one,” Moeder said smugly, making two quick slashes with her lightsaber. With the first, she knocked Cosette’s lightsaber out of her hand and sent it skidding across the floor. With the second, she hit at Cosette’s feet, forcing her backwards, where she tripped over the stairs behind her and fell heavily down them, crumpling at the bottom. Moeder looked down at her triumphantly. “Your destiny lies with me, Fauchelevent,” Moeder practically crowed. “Even Valjean knew this to be true!”

Instantly, Cosette was back on her feet, her eyes flashing as she snapped, “No!”

Moeder just laughed lightly. “This is all too easy,” she said, slowly descending the stairs toward Cosette. “Perhaps you are not as strong as the Emperor thought.”  
  
Cosette did not reply, instead reaching out with her hand, calling her lightsaber swiftly to her, and she instantly moved into a defensive pose, staring defiantly at Moeder, who seemed briefly taken aback. “Valjean has taught you well,” she said, raising her own lightsaber again. “You have learned to control your fear — now release your anger!” She swung her lightsaber, pressing Cosette backwards, and their lightsabers met in the middle, each straining to force the other back. Moeder hissed through clenched teeth, “Only your hatred can destroy me!”

But Cosette remembered Valjean’s warning all too well, and without warning, she jumped in the air, somersaulting over Moeder to land behind her, and raising her lightsaber to prepare to attack again.

* * *

     

“They’ll be at the east platform,” Feuilly shouted over his shoulder as they ran. They sped past Q4, who squawked as it tried to change direction and bounced into the wall. “Q4!” MAR-E-S called, waving from where it was still strapped to Bossuet’s back. “Q4, where have you been?” While Q4 squeaked its response, MAR-E-S ignored it, instead talking over its beeping to urge, “Hurry, we’re trying to save Grantaire from Javert!”

Q4 quickly joined the pursuit, and finally caught up, whistling crossly at MAR-E-S, who just shook its head. “At least _you’re_ still in one piece,” it reminded Q4 crossly. “Look what’s become of me!”

Any further conversation was lost as they finally arrived at the platform, and Enjolras was the first out, looking around wildly for Grantaire. But they were too late. Javert’s ship _Honneur_ sped away from the platform, and Enjolras let out a wordless cry, firing at the ship, though it was too far out of range (and the blaster in his hands too small to make an impact.

“Look out!” MAR-E-S cried, flailing on Bossuet’s back as the rest watched the ship disappear. “They’re behind you!”

Everyone whirled around to see a squad of stormtroopers running toward them. Enjolras, Feuilly and Baho Rel started firing at the troopers, while Joly and Bossuet made a break for the door controls, managing to get the door closed just before the stormtroopers reached the landing platform. Feuilly, Enjolras and Baho Rel lowered their blasters, and Enjolras glanced at Feuilly. “Now what?” he asked, sounding exhausted.

Feuilly pointed towards the far end of the platform. “There’s an auxiliary door over there that we can use to get back inside and get to the Musain.” 

“To the Musain?” Enjolras asked, frowning. “Now that we can’t do anything to help Grantaire, the very least that I can do is find Cosette and help her.”

Shaking his head, Feuilly started heading towards the far door. “No,” he said shortly.

Enjolras scowled as he followed. “What do you mean, ‘no’?” he demanded. 

“What I mean is that my priority is to get you out of here safely while Lady Moeder is occupied with your friend,” Feuilly told him.

“Excuse me?” Enjolras asked coldly, a dangerous edge to his voice.

Feuilly turned, his expression set. “You can try to argue all you want, but I’m not changing my mind on this. I’m getting you out of here safely it’s the last thing I do.” He paused before adding, in a softer voice, “I owe that much to Grantaire.”

That stopped Enjolras in his tracks, and for a moment, a wave of sadness seemed to pass over his face before it hardened back into his more determined expression. “Fine,” he said shortly. “Then let’s get out of here.”

When they reached the auxiliary door, Feuilly bent over the access panel and punched in a code before staring expectantly at the door, which didn’t budge. Frowning, he tried the code again, to the same result, and he turned back to Enjolras, panicked. “The security codes have been changed!”

From Bossuet’s back, MAR-E-S waved its arms and ordered, “Q4, get over there! You can tell the computer to override the security system.”

As Q4 scooted over to the access port, Feuilly tapped into the intercom system, announcing, his voice echoing across the platform and assumedly throughout the city, “Attention! This is Feuilly. The Empire has taken control of the city. I advise everyone to leave before more Imperial troops alive.” He glanced over at Enjolras and half-smiled. “I expect that will keep them busy.”

The door flew open, and they all ran inside to find utter chaos, with residents scurrying this way and that, some toting all their belongings as they fled. They reached the door to the Musain’s landing platform, and Q4 hooked itself up again to open this door as well, while Enjolras, Feuilly, Baho Rel, Joly and Bossuet fired at the approaching stormtroopers. Q4 whistled urgently, and from its position on Bossuet’s back, MAR-E-S chided, “We’re not interested in the hyperdrive on the Musain, we know it’s been fixed! Just open the door, you stupid bucket of bolts!” Instantly, the door opened, and MAR-E-S said, its tone completely different, “I never doubted you for a second, Q4.”

The group dashed outside, firing over their shoulders as they boarded the ship. “Take off, take off, take off,” Feuilly panted, bringing up the rear, and almost missing it as the ramp rose up into the ship.

With the stormtroopers firing at the ship, the Musain took off from the platform, roaring away from the city as CANNON fighters took off in pursuit.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the one hand, this chapter is only five days late. On the _other_ hand...
> 
> _The ghost of Fred Weasley appears. "With the whole wide world of hand-related humour, you go for 'On the other hand'. Pathetic."_
> 
> Oh. Um. Well, isn't it _handy_ —
> 
> _Fred shakes his head sadly._
> 
> Well, then let's just say that you all _could_ give me a hand for finally getting this chapter up, but no worries — Cosette already did.

Cosette seemed to be holding her own for the most part, which was as amazing as anything, though she didn’t exactly have time to dwell on it as she raised her lightsaber again and again to meet Moeder’s every blow. She was panting and sweating, yes, but somehow didn’t yet feel fatigued, her arms strong and sure, her mind quiet and obedient.

But then Moeder took a step back, expertly twirling her sword as she told Cosette coldly, “You are beaten. Resistance is futile.”

Baring her teeth almost ferally, Cosette pushed forward, attacking Moeder again. As they settled into what now seemed almost a familiar dance, their blades spinning and meeting with sparks flying around them, Cosette realized that Moeder wasn’t really attacking her. Certainly she pushed back against Cosette, and turned offensive when she had the opportunity, but even her attacks were more defensive, aimed not at killing Cosette but merely overpowering or subduing her. It was almost as if Moeder had no desire to kill her.

But Cosette had no such limitations, and all the desire in the world to strike down the woman  **—**  or perhaps more accurately, the machine — that stood in front of her, the self-same creature whose blade had struck down Valjean and Cosette’s mother.

And as Moeder taunted, “Don’t let yourself be destroyed as Valjean did”, Cosette could feel her anger and her desire for revenge begin to boil over. Her eyes narrowed and her grip on her lightsaber tightened as she attacked with renewed vigor.

She thrust her lightsaber viciously Moeder, just managing to nick her shoulder, though the damage seemed limited to Moeder’s black armor than anything else. Still, the landed blow instilled even more confidence in Cosette, and she forced Moeder back away from the control room and out into the core reactor chamber, oblivious to loud rush of wind that went from the top of the reactor to exhaust pipe below.

Now Cosette’s attacks came almost wildly as she was consumed her her blind rage; her strokes were strong but lacked their surety from before, and she paid little attention to her footing as she continued to drive Moeder back. 

If she had been paying more attention, perhaps she would have noticed Moeder poised to spring; if her anger had not been all-consuming, so many things might have been different.

But her anger had blinded her, just as Myriel and Valjean had warned, and without Cosette realizing what was about to happen, Moeder flipped over Cosette’s head, landing so that it was Cosette on the cusp of the reactor, and for the first time, Cosette realized how close she was to teetering on the edge.

She made the mistake of looking down and very quickly looked back at Moeder, who seemed to straighten triumphantly, her lightsaber held in front of her. Cosette swallowed nervously and took a step back, almost falling when she did.

In an instant, Moeder struck, her lightsaber slashing down and striking Cosette’s arm. The saber cleanly severed the hand from the arm, and Cosette cried out, falling to one knee as her hand and lightsaber disappeared into the reactor.

She stared up at Moeder, shaking as she cradled her stump, knowing that she had nowhere else to go but to certain death in the reactor core or certain death at the hand of the Emperor.

“There is no escape,” Moeder told her, though there was no triumph in her voice, more resignation than anything. “You do not yet realize your importance.” Abruptly, she extended her hand towards Cosette as if to help her to her feet, and Cosette merely stared at it, confused. “You have only begun to discover your power, but with our combined strength, we can end the conflict ripping across worlds and bring order to the galaxy!”

Cosette flinched away, and the look she gave Moeder was of pure hatred as she spat, “I’ll never join you!”

Moeder did not seem taken aback by her vehemence, merely shaking her head as she mused, “If only you realized the power of the Dark Side. Valjean never explained what happened with your mother.”

“He told me enough,” Cosette snarled, slowly making her way to her feet, still clutching her wounded arm as she stared wildly at Moeder. “He told me that you killed her, _murdered_ her, struck her down the way you murdered Valjean.”

Shaking her head, Moeder said simply, the starkness emphasizing the sincerity, “No. I am your mother.”

Cosette’s heart seemed to drop all of the way to the reactor core bottom, and she shook even harder as she stared in disbelief at Moeder. “No,” she whispered hoarsely, before her voice rose from a whisper to a shriek, “No! That’s not true! That’s _impossible_!”

“Search your feeling,” Moeder told her, her voice too calm, too collected. “You know it to be true.”

The worst part was that Cosette did. She couldn’t explain how she knew but she felt it like it had been a brand on her very soul from the moment she had learned she was a Jedi, like every piece of darkness in her soul had led her to this moment. 

And if there was darkness in her, it was nothing compared to the absolute rage she felt now as she glared at Moeder. She was shaking with rage, and her vision seemed to narrow to nothing more than the dark-clad woman in front of her. She could _feel_ her rage like a concrete item, like a sword in her hand, and she _pushed_ , forcing Moeder to stagger back a few steps as sparks flew from Cosette’s fingertips. “No,” Cosette snarled.

Moeder shook her head. “Cosette, you can destroy the Emperor,” she told her, voice ringing with sincerity and Cosette shook her head as well, trying to stop Moeder’s words from permeating her brain, from clouding the pure rage she felt. “He has foreseen this. It is your destiny.” She again extended her hand toward Cosette, who stared at it, conflicted. “Join me, and we can rule the galaxy as mother and daughter. Come with me.” She beckoned, and Cosette took an involuntary step forward. “It’s the only way.”

As abruptly as it had reared its ugly head, Cosette’s rage seemed to vanish, and she saw things with perfect clarity. “No,” she said again, calmly. “There is another way.”

And without warning, she turned and stepped off of the platform, falling down the core reactor. Moeder lunged forward as if to catch her, but was forced back by the rush of wind as Cosette fell.

Cosette’s eyes closed and her tears — though whether from the rush of air or from the news she had just learned, she would never tell  **—**  fell upward as she seemed to gain speed. Suddenly, she was sucked into an exhaust port on the side of the reactor shaft and tumbled along until she was unceremoniously dropped out from a grate, just barely managing to grab onto a satellite vane with her remaining hand.

She hung in the air, staring down into the swirling clouds that obscured the planet’s core, and glanced up briefly at the underside of the city. Then, with more effort than she showed, she closed her eyes and took a deep shuddering breath before calling lowly, “Enjolras  **—**  Hear me! Enjolras!”

* * *

 

Enjolras glanced up from the ship consoles to stare out of the window, his gaze distant. Joly and Bossuet were busy in the back of the cockpit and Feuilly was muttering furiously to himself as he made adjustments to the controls. “We have to go back,” Enjolras said abruptly, and Feuilly glanced over at him.

“What?” he asked.

Shaking his head, Enjolras turned to him, his expression fierce. “I know where Cosette is,” he said, before turning to nod at Joly and Bossuet, who growled as they moved to make the necessary adjustments to turn back around.

Feuilly shook his head as well, baffled. “But what about those fighters?” he protested, and was summarily ignored. “And what about Moeder?” As one, both Wookiees turned to growl at him, and Feuilly held his hands up in defeat. “Alright, alright,” he grumbled.

The ship banked steeply to turn back towards the city, which seemed to be the best diversionary tactic they could have taken: two of the CANNON fighters following them crashed into each other and exploded. Enjolras paid no attention to that, however, leaning forward as he scanned the horizon. “Stay low,” he ordered. “Head to the underside of the city.”

“The underside?” Feuilly asked, though he obediently changed the ship’s heading accordingly. “There’s nothing under there other than the valves and exhaust ports we use to vent or dispose of trash.”

Enjolras didn’t answer, his expression turning far away as he continued to stare out the window. In an almost detached voice, he said, “Make for the upper-east quadrant.” Feuilly rolled his eyes but did it nonetheless, and Enjolras suddenly pointed and said, “There’s someone up there!”

Sure enough, they could just see Cosette hanging by a thread from the satellite vane, and Enjolras’s expression turned anxious. Feuilly glanced over and took over the command. “Joly, slow thrusters and we’ll get under her. Enjolras—” He reached over and touched Enjolras’s arm, jolting him from his reverie “ **—** Open the top hatch and help her in.”  
  
Nodding, Enjolras rose from his seat and headed toward the back of the ship, and Feuilly glanced at Bossuet, who took her seat. “Steady the stabilizers,” he ordered, before saying over the intercom, “Enjolras, let me know when you’ve got her.” 

There was silence on the other end, and Joly let out a growl, pointing as three CANNON-fighters came onto the scope. “Enjolras, let me know when you’ve got her,” Feuilly repeated, tone turning urgent. “We’ve got incoming fighters and we need to get out of here!” The silence continued and Feuilly practically shouted, “Enjolras!”

“I’ve got her,” Enjolras finally said, his voice crackling over the intercom, and Feuilly let out a sigh of relief.

“Hit it,” Feuilly ordered, as the first explosion rocked the ship.

The ship raced away from the city, and Feuilly slumped back in his seat in relief.

* * *

  
  
“You’re alright,” Enjolras said encouragingly, carefully pulling Cosette down from the hatch, losing all color from his face when he saw her now-handless arm. “You’ll be alright. I’ve got you.”

Cosette lolled against him, barely conscious, her eyelids fluttering slightly as she stared up at him. “Valjean,” she mumbled, her expression twisting in agony as she cried out, “Valjean!” 

Something inside Enjolras shifted, and he could feel anger at whoever had done this to Cosette flooding through his veins. With his anger seemed to come strength, and he picked her up as if she weighed nothing, cradling her close to his chest as he strode towards the sickbay. He set her down gently on a cot, his anger only growing as Cosette curled onto her side, moaning pitifully as she held her stump close to her chest. “You’ll be alright,” he repeated, as gently as he could manage with his eyes blazing and his hands curled into fists, and he pulled a blanket over her. “You, and Grantaire  **—**  you’ll both be alright. And those responsible will pay.”

The ship lurched with another blast and Enjolras glanced up before looking back down at Cosette, his expression softening. “I’ll be back,” he promised, squeezing her remaining hand before standing and heading back toward the cockpit.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The less-than-happy ending.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all who have read! As a reminder, the prequels will be next. They will not be published in chapters but instead each (Episode II and III; we're skipping Episode I) will be published in a long fic. Why? A variety of reasons, but it can be summed up quite succinctly as "Because I feel like it".
> 
> So stay tuned for Episode II, coming your way at some point in October. We'll leave Cosette and Enjolras where they are and instead turn our focus to how Moeder became a Sith and what happened to make Javert pursue Valjean so single-mindedly.

As Enjolras made his way to the cockpit, alarms started sounding throughout the ship. “What’s going on?” he asked tersely as he entered the cockpit. Feuilly didn’t look up, instead hurriedly adjusting some switches on the console as Bossuet growled mournfully and pointed at the display panel. “Star Destroyer,” Enjolras said, recognizing the shape of the blip moving towards them on the screen.

“Alright, we’re ready for lightspeed,” Feuilly said confidently, sitting back in his seat and nodding at Joly, who nodded back, his paw on the throttle.

Enjolras snorted. “ _If_ your people fixed the hyperdrive,” he muttered, and Feuilly shot him a dirty look, which Enjolras ignored as he glanced at the navigational panel. “All coordinates are set, so it’s now or never.” 

Feuilly glanced at Joly. “Punch it!” he ordered, and Joly pulled back on the throttle.

The engines started to whir as if they were going to make the jump to lightspeed, and everyone collectively held their breath. Then, the whirring turned into whining and nothing happened. Joly howled in frustration, repeatedly pulling back the throttle to no avail. Feuilly looked positively betrayed. “They told me they fixed it!” he yelped. “I trusted them to fix it. It’s not my fault!”

His protestations were so similar to Grantaire’s not too long ago that Enjolras had to close his eyes briefly, feeling suddenly overwhelmed by an inexplicable sense of loss. Then he snapped back into action. “Bossuet, you’re with me,” he ordered, standing and striding from the cockpit, followed by Bossuet.

* * *

          

Moeder adjusted her gauntlets as she strode across the platform towards her shuttle. General Listolier followed, urgently watching the CANNON fighters in the distance as they pursued the Musain, driving it towards the star destroyer. “They’ll be in range of tractor beam in moments, my lady,” he told Moeder, who nodded slowly. 

“Did your men deactivate the hyperdrive on the Musain?” she asked.

Listolier nodded. “Yes, my lady.”

Moeder stepped onto the shuttle and turned around to order, “Then prepare the boarding party and set your weapons for stun. I want them alive, General. And do not let them escape this time.”

Listolier saluted before swallowing hard, remembering far too well what had happened the last time the Musain escaped the clutches of the Empire.

* * *

  
  
Q4 whistled to itself while it worked, reconnecting MAR-E-S’s left leg, but it stopped when first Enjolras and then Bossuet stormed in, heading towards the control panel. Bossuet yowled at them as he passed, and MAR-E-S asked mildly, “Why aren’t we going into lightspeed?”

Bossuet growled instead of answering, and Q4 beeped in response. “We can’t?” MAR-E-S repeated. “How would _you_ know the hyperdrive is deactivated?” Q4 whistled knowingly, and MAR-E-S attempted to smack it. “The city’s central computer told you? Q4-RAC, you know better than to trust a strange computer! Now pay attention to what you’re doing.”

Enjolras watched as Bossuet grabbed a wrench, starting to make adjustments to the control panel. “Have you got it?” he asked, his anger receding slightly as he realized he had no idea how to fix the hyperdrive. Bossuet nodded and made a shooing motion and Enjolras sighed heavily, turning to head back to the cockpit.

On the way, he was startled to see Cosette, holding on to the wall to keep herself upright as she slowly made her way down the hall toward the cockpit. “Cosette?” Enjolras asked, worried, and he rushed over to help support her. “What the hell are you doing? You should be back in bed, resting.”

“It’s Moeder,” Cosette told him, all color drained from her face, her eyes wide and wild as she looked around at Enjolras, barely seeing him. “She’s coming for me.”

Without warning, she pitched forward, and Enjolras just barely caught her before she fell. “Whoa, that’s enough. You’re going back to bed.” 

“No!” Cosette half-shouted, thrashing as she tried to get away. “Valjean! Valjean, why didn’t you tell me?”

* * *

 

On board her shuttle heading towards the star destroyer, Moeder raised her head slightly. “Cosette,” she murmured, sensing her daughter’s presence not too far away. “Daughter. You must come with me.”

Listolier glanced over at her but wisely chose not to comment. “Alert all commands,” he ordered the communications officer. “Ready the tractor beam and prepare to board.”

Moeder didn’t look away from the Musain, growing larger in the window as her shuttle drew closer to both the star destroyer and the smaller ship. “Cosette...it is your destiny.” 

* * *

  
  
Q4 abandoned MAR-E-S, who flailed on the floor, unable to stand on only one leg. “Q4, come back at once! You haven’t finished with me yet!” Q4 beeped waspishly, and MAR-E-S shook its head. “But you don’t know _how_ to fix the hyperdrive! Let Bossuet do it! I’m lying here in pieces, and you’re having delusions of grandeur!”

Making a noise that sounded suspiciously close to a curse word, Q4 plugged into the circuit board. After a moment, the Musain suddenly tilted sharply, accelerating into hyperspace. The abrupt acceleration sent both Q4 and MAR-E-S sliding down the corridor.  
  
“Oh, you did it!” MAR-E-S called, delighted, though its delight quickly turned sour as it smacked its head into the wall. “Ouch! You couldn’t have waited until I was in more of a comfortable position, could you?” Q4 just beeped a long-suffering sigh in response.

* * *

  
  
The Musain zoomed away into the stars, disappearing from view of the star destroyer and the shuttle. General Listolier swallowed convulsively as he nervously glanced at Moeder, utter terror in his expression.

Moeder stared out at the stars for a long moment, then turned slowly and walked away from the bridge, her hands held behind her back contemplatively. Just as she was about to leave, she paused, glancing back at Listolier. “General,” she said, her voice dangerous. “Why don’t you accompany me?”

* * *

 

The Musain was attached to a huge rebel cruiser by a docking tube as a droid made last minute adjustments to the outside of the ship. They were in the middle of a large fleet, flanked on all sides by Revolution fighters and transport ships.

Inside the cruiser, Cosette lay back against the cot, trying to ignore what the medical droid was doing to her arm. Instead, she held the comlink up to her mouth and asked, “Feuilly, are you ready for takeoff?”

“Yes ma’am,” Feuilly told her, accompanied by the roars of the Wookiees and the incomprehensible babbling of Baho Rel. “And everyone else is ready as well.”

Cosette laughed lightly. “Good luck, Feuilly. When you find Thénardier and Javert, contact us and I’ll meet you at the rendezvous point on Montfermeil.”

She hesitated for a moment before handing the comlink to Enjolras, who was hovering over her shoulder. As if sensing what was happening, Feuilly said reassuringly, “Enjolras, we’ll find Grantaire. I promise.”

Enjolras closed his eyes for a brief moment as he nodded. Then he said in a rough voice, “Joly, I’ll be waiting for your signal.”

The Wookie growled in response and Enjolras handed the comlink back to Cosette, who finished, “Take care, all. May the Force be with you.”

She set the comlink down and glanced at what the medical droid was doing and the robotic hand it was finishing attaching the final circuits before unexpectedly pricking one of the fingers on the robotic hand. “Ow!” Cosette said, more surprised than anything, and it was with wonder that she slowly wiggled the fingers and made a fist, a small smile spreading across her face, though it was shadowed by the haunted look that hadn’t quite left her eyes, and the dark circles that still surrounded them. 

Slowly sitting up, she glanced over at Enjolras, who had moved to the window to watch the Musain take off, his own expression shadowed. Wordlessly, she joined him at the window, slipping her arm around his waist and squeezing lightly. “Thinking about Grantaire?” she asked. 

Enjolras managed to give her a tight smile and leaned over to kiss the top of her head. “Always,” he said honestly.

“We’ll find him,” Cosette assured him, managing a small smile of her own.

That smile disappeared when Enjolras asked, “And you — are you thinking about Moeder?” Cosette didn’t say anything, but she didn’t have to — the look on her face said it all. Enjolras sighed and put his arm around her shoulders. “What a pair we make.”

Cosette just sighed and turned to look at him. “We’ll be fine,” she said, with more confidence than she felt. “We have each other, after all.”

They both turned to stare out at the stars and the dense, swirling galaxy behind the Revolution fleet. Q4 and MAR-E-S joined them, MAR-E-S resting its arm on Q4’s head and ignoring Q4’s irritated beep, and together they watched as the Musain faded into the distance.


End file.
